


One Thousand Words

by Renegade_Angels



Series: One Thousand Words [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Artist AU, Asexual Castiel, Asexual Relationship, Cas is an artist, Castiel has Anxiety, Christmas, F/F, Gabe is a photographer, M/M, Mentions of Anxiety, Mutual Pining, Platonic Male/Male Relationships, Slow Build, Slow Burn, So is Gabe, Whovian!Cas, implied depression, mentions of past eating disorders
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-02
Updated: 2015-11-01
Packaged: 2018-02-07 04:08:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 52,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1884699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Renegade_Angels/pseuds/Renegade_Angels
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cas Milton was gifted with an artistic talent, not a social one. He's only had one friend in his life, a semi-crazy photographer named Gabriel Speight, and Cas is completely okay with that. Gabriel's enough. Sometimes he's more than enough; he's too much. </p><p>Then Cas meets Dean Winchester, the green-eyed bartender that Cas just can't stop drawing. With Gabe's help (and Sam, Dean's younger brother and Gabe's new boyfriend), Cas and Dean are slowly pushed towards each other, and Cas learns how to human. Kind of.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Some people are born with rather artistic sounding names, names that say “this kid is going to go far, and not in a conventional way.” Castiel Milton (Cas Milton on the bottom right corner of all his work) was one of those people. It didn’t hurt that he actually was artistically inclined, having picked up a crayon before he had been able to talk or walk. He excelled in every artistic endeavor that he partook in (excluding pottery, but Castiel didn’t talk about his freshman year very much). He wasn’t bad in intellectual areas, but he just didn’t put forth as much effort towards school as he did towards his art. Art, sketching especially, was his lifeblood.

Castiel was self-taught, drawing what he saw and how he saw it. How else was there to draw other than from his own perspective? Castiel only started taking official art classes once he started high school, and was stunned by how many other artists there were in his school alone.

Not that Castiel had ever thought himself to be the only artist. He wasn’t ignorant. Naïve, reclusive, yes, but his mind was open to anything the world threw at him. Perhaps that was why Castiel gravitated towards the arts. Anything goes in art, after all, so why not surround himself with possible ideas?

His first friend was Gabe Speight. Gabe was a senior when Castiel was a sophomore, and they met in Castiel’s seventh period photography class. Castiel knew he was socially awkward, he always had been, after all, but not being social meant that Castiel had more time to draw. He was always drawing, even in photography class, where he sat, alone, at the center table. While the other future photographers talked and laughed about who-knows-what, Castiel sat in the center of it all, drawing, sketching each of his classmates.

Castiel had a talent. He only needed to look at his subject once, like a camera, before he had a perfect copy of their face in his head. It didn’t matter what angle his subject was sitting at; after about forty seconds, Castiel was set to sketch.

Castiel never asked Gabe Speight what made him move over to the center table to sit across from the dark-haired future artist. Castiel suspected that it was curiousity, but if it had been, Castiel must be a very entertaining person, seeing as, twelve years after Gabe had sat down across from Castiel with a bag of Skittles in his hand, Gabe Speight was still Castiel’s (only) friend. Because Gabe was constant, he was often used as Castiel’s subject matter. The same did not work for Gabe, who had become a free-lance photographer after “suffering through four years of air-headed art-heads,” as Gabe referred to college as.  
Gabe was the opposite of Castiel in most respects, and that included his out-going, social personality. Gabe was the type to see a random person on the streets of New York City and pull them off to the side to have them pose for a random picture. Sometimes Gabe didn’t even bother to ask.

Gabe had set up his own personal darkroom in the bedroom of his two room apartment. He slept on the couch, and the window of the bedroom turned darkroom had been boarded up and duct-taped so thickly that Castiel often wondered if a sledge hammer could break through it. But that was Gabe’s style: ever-dramatic and spontaneous. Castiel was much more thought out.

The two were at Gabe’s apartment now, Castiel’s various art pieces spread out across every available horizontal surface Castiel could find. It was chaos; it was Castiel’s chaos, which was odd, because Castiel didn’t do chaos. But Castiel wasn’t thinking about chaos; he couldn’t think any coherent thoughts right now.

Castiel had just been told that he was getting an art showing as the Chuck Shurley Art Hall, and he had two weeks to prepare twenty pieces for the showing, and they all had to be matted and framed. Professionally, of course. CSAH was no playground, as both Castiel and Gabe knew.

“You’re twenty-seven and they’re already asking for your stuff? Do you have any idea how good this will look on your résumé?” Gabe was perched on the back of his couch/bed, sitting on his feet and balancing a plate of cake on his knees. His camera hung off the side of his legs, abandoned momentarily. “Cas, stop freaking out, because if you can’t choose what to send in, I’ll just send in some of my stuff and claim it as yours. And we both know what happened the last time I had stuff in a professional setting.”

It hadn’t ended well, for both Gabe and Castiel. Castiel knew this, and he also knew that there was no way that his best (and only) friend was going to ruin Castiel’s first big show. But Castiel was too stressed, too nervous about this showing to say anything in reply to Gabe. Instead, he ran his pale, rainbowed hands (he had been working with oil pastels when the CSAH staff had asked for a showing from his artwork) through his already messy hair, messing it up further.

Gabe took another bite of cake and rolled his eyes. “Couldn’t you lose your shit at your own place? My legs are cramping from sitting here like this, and I can’t feel my feet.”

Castiel whipped his head around, his usually wide blue eyes narrowed in a way that signified “Cas Milton will murder you in your sleep tonight.” Gabe lifted both of his hands, one hand holding the fork between two fingers. “Hey, just saying. You could show a bit of consideration to the guy who’s letting you throw all of your stuff on the floor of his apartment.”

“Yes, Gabe, I could, but I am currently having a mental breakdown.” Castiel’s hands stopped messing up his hair and buried themselves in his ever-present trench coat. “I don’t know what to put in the showing, and I came to you because you’re my only friend and I didn’t know where else to go.”

“Aw, how sweet.” Gabe mock pouted. “Now move your stuff before I have broken feet.”

Castiel, finally out of panic-mode, sends his friend a final glare before moving his drawings into semi-organized piles. Castiel hadn’t really thought through his actions that afternoon; he had just grabbed his two crates full of miscellaneous finished pieces of art and ran to Gabe’s apartment, hitching a taxi once he had registered that he was running through the streets of New York City in a paint-streaked t-shirt, jeans, and trench coat (that had somehow managed to avoid getting any paint stains on it in all of Castiel’s years of wearing it), carrying crates of art under his arms. Even for New York, that was odd.  
The “Holy shit high class people want my stuff” effect hadn’t fully kicked in until after Castiel had told the taxi driver where Gabe’s apartment was, which was a good thing, as Castiel had almost forgotten to pay the taxi driver in his panic.

Five minutes after Castiel had finally calmed down, he and Gabe were sitting on Gabe’s couch, sorting through and reorganizing Castiel’s half put together portfolio. Castiel’s fingers were shaking as he flipped through various charcoals of the inhabitants of New York. He had always enjoyed drawing people. They had so much detail, and they were fun to try to recreate of a flat piece of fiber. Paper was two-dimensional. People had three dimensions, and thousands more layers of interesting. Castiel didn’t know many people, and he only talked to Gabe and occasionally art show directors, but even from his very limited experience, Castiel knew that people, normal, socialising people, were very in-depth. Re-creating strangers on paper after having looked at them for only a minute? That was the magic, which, even without the background knowledge of a person, Castiel could accurately portray his subjects.

“Whoa, isn’t this from, like, high school?” Gabe pulls out an older, slightly crinkled paper with an inked portrait of Castiel and Gabe’s photography teacher. She was kneeling down, one eye squinted shut and pointing her camera up a lamp post. Above the sketch, also in ink, the words “composition is the most important part” were scrawled in Castiel’s handwriting.

“Yes, that’s our teacher. I don’t remember her name though.” Castiel nodded, going back to his own stack of art. “I’m not submitting that one. It’s too old.”

“It’s really good though.” Gabe was still inspecting the picture, gold eyes taking in every detail Castiel had added. “Almost as accurate as a photograph. Seriously, you’re… damn Cas, how are we even friends? You should be with the Michaelangelos of today, not some free-lance photographer sleeping on a couch.”

“I’m bad at meeting people.” Castiel whispers. It was true. Talking over the phone of emailing possible clients about his work was no problem for Castiel, but once he met his subjects face-to-face, the dark-haired artist wasn’t able to speak. Or, if he could, he’d mumble, stutter, say the wrong things, or speak art jargon that confused the people he was trying to talk to. It was why he tried to avoid working with people directly. If someone wanted to have Castiel draw them, they usually had to go through Gabe.

“Hey, you’ll get past it.” Castiel knew that Gabe meant well for him, but when a person hears the same thing for twelve years and nothing happens, it gets harder to believe that there will be change. Not that Castiel hadn’t tried, he was just an overly shy introvert, and had the social intelligence of a rock. Actually, a rock was probably better at handling society than Castiel was.

“Thanks, Gabe. I think we’ve got enough for now.” Castiel pulls the fifteen various chosen portraits off into a separate pile, them begins reloading the other drawings into their respective bins. Gabe lets Castiel do the sorting, knowing that the younger man has his own odd system of how his artworks are ordered.

Gabe leans back onto the couch, noticing that, outside, the sun was down and the lights were up in the city. “Hey, Cas, wanna go grab a beer to celebrate your success?”

“Why aren’t you jealous?” It had just occurred to Castiel that Gabe had been nothing other than supportive for the past five hours that Castiel had spent in his apartment. Not that Gabe usually got jealous whenever Castiel out-did him; ever since they had met, Gabe had told Castiel that Castiel would be the first of the two of them to really make it in the art world, and that Castiel had better not forget where he came from, otherwise Gabe might just have to come in and mess with Castiel’s high-life. Castiel knew he’s never leave Gabe behind, not after Castiel had lost his family because Castiel dropped out of medical school to go become an artist in New York, which was actually Gabe’s idea.

In response to Castiel’s question, Gabe shrugged. “You’re one of my closest friends, and you’re kind of like the little brother I never had. Why the hell would I be anything other than ecstatic about you getting into CSAH? Besides, I know you’ll be dragging me along with you to the show, and you’re using some drawings of me, so I’ll get noticed. And unlike you, I like being the center of attention.”

“Of course.” Castiel dean-pans, but he’s grinning on the inside. Gabe stands up and pops his shoulders. “So, about those beers… are we a ‘yes’ or a ‘no, Gabe, I’m going to stay here and be my anti-social self’?”

“Yes.” Castiel nods, and tosses Gabe his apartment keys. “I believe this is a proper time for outside celebration.”

Gabe mutters something along the lines of “formal fucking asshat” as he passes Castiel, but there’s a smirk on his face so Castiel takes it as a sideways compliment. Castiel follows Gabe out of the apartment building, blue eyes taking in all of the interesting objects (and people) they pass, storing the images in the back of his mind for later use.

The two enter a bar situated between two high-end fashion boutiques. Gabe, of course, comments on the unusual juxtaposition of the bar. One of the bartenders, who is picking up some empty glasses, overheard the comment and chuckled. “Hey, we didn’t pick the location, we just take the job.”

Castiel had never really paid attention to people’s voices before. He’d never had to. But the voice of the bartender struck him, grabbing Castiel’s attention before the artist could register his attention had been diverted. And then Castiel found himself staring into a pair of the greenest eyes he had ever glimpsed in his twenty-seven years of existence. And that moment, as Castiel took in everything he could about the man’s face, he knew that he’d be using up whole sketchbooks on this single face. Short, light-brown hair that begged to have someone’s fingers running through it, a splash of freckles that paralleled the stars in pattern, stubble that was short enough to be attractive, but long enough that it wouldn’t be scratchy, full, pouty lips that were pulled back into a welcoming smile, teeth that lit the small bar better than the obnoxious fluorescent lights behind the counter, and the eyes…

“Cas, reality.” Gabe snaps his fingers in front of Castiel’s face, bringing the dark-haired artist out of his reverie. Gabe rolls his eyes.” Sorry, Mr. Space-case here has a staring problem.”

“Nah, it’s fine. I’ll take it as a compliment.” The man sends another smile towards Castiel, who is currently trying to shrink into his trench coat. He hates getting caught staring, even if the person he was staring as wasn’t offended by the staring. Gabe notices Castiel’s hunched posture, and nudges his friend. “Hey, Cas, it’s okay. You didn’t freak him out.”

“I know, Gabriel. Can we just get our drinks?” Castiel mutters, his face heating up as he speaks. Somehow he had managed to keep from stumbling over the words, but his voice had come out in its usual deep, crackly way, and that bothered Castiel. He didn’t like his voice, not around anyone he didn’t already know. It didn’t match his personality; it made him seem more dark and brooding than he really was.

Gabe grins at his companion, seeming to enjoy how awkward Castiel is around the bartender. “Of course, Cassie.”

Then, to the bartender who has been patiently observing the exchange between the two men, “Two beers, whatever’s on tap.”

“No problem.” And then Castiel’s new favourite subject is off leaving Castiel and Gabe to slide into two empty chairs, Castiel’s blue eyes never leaving the Bartender’s head as the bartender moves through the people. Castiel doesn’t know his name. He doesn’t need to, because his face is permanently embedded in Castiel’s mind. Every freckle, the scar above his left eyebrow, the correct shade of green for his eyes, everything. And Castiel wonders why this man is so intriguing. He’s just another person, a flawless person at that, so why does Castiel find himself etching the man’s face into the table with a sharpie pen he found in the pocket of his trench coat?

“Oh shit.” Castiel mutters as he realises that he’s done, the half-finished headshot smiling up at its creator. Gabe’s smirking, trying to keep back a laugh. And failing. “Wow, someone’s a bit eager to play.”

Castiel opens his mouth in what would have been a very lame retort (Castiel was only eloquent in his head, unfortunately), but at that moment, the bartender chose to reappear with two beers in his hands. Castiel’s eyes widened to inhuman proportions and he slung his arms over the table sketch. The sharpie was flung off the table in the process, and Gabe bit back another laugh as it skittered straight to Castiel’s bartender’s feet. He looked down at the marker, then at the red-faced Castiel who was strewn haphazardly across the table in an opposite-of-subtle attempt to hide the sketch, then to the smirking Gabe, who was biting deep enough into the fleshy part of his thumb to leave a bruise. The bartender moves the two beers so that they’re both in his right hand, grabs the sharpie pen from the floor, and deposits all three items at Gabe and Castiel’s table.

“I think you dropped this, Cas.” Castiel nearly falls out of his seat because not only is this guy talking to him, but he’s being nice and he somehow knows Castiel’s name. Which means that either Castiel is more popular than he thinks (which means it’s time to get the hell out because Castiel is not meant to be in the spotlight, ever) of Gabe referred to Castiel by name in their earlier exchange with the man. Most likely the second possibility, as Gabe would have been gracious enough to inform Castiel that there were people other than coffeehouse visiting, chai-tea chugging hipsters that were infatuated with his stuff. Gabe could be an insensitive dick sometimes (like now, he was just sitting there, laughing, as Castiel was thrust mercilessly into the arms of a gorgeous bartender who picked up on Castiel’s nickname-slash-name he used on all his work), but the photographer knew when to draw the line and protect Castiel.

“…!” Castiel lets out a noise that sounds like someone strangling a cannibalistic Russell Terrier, and his face continues to show off all the possible shades of red the world has to offer.

And then Gabe decides that he’s had enough fun for one day, and that Castiel might just explode from all the socializing he’s having to do right now, and so the photographer butts in. “Yeah, that his. Thanks…”

“Dean. My name’s Dean.” A final smile and another exchange of “thanks” (between Gabe and Dean, Castiel is too busy staring at the sharpie that has Dean’s DNA on it) and then Dean’s off to the next set of customers, taking their order or refilling their drinks or whatever else it is that bartenders do when they aren’t returning dropped Sharpie pens to socially incapable artists named Castiel Milton.

Gabe had turned back to his beer, but Castiel knew what the look in his friend’s gold eyes meant; twelve years of being side-kick to a twisted prankster had taught Castiel that when the only signs of emotion were coming from Gabe’s eyes, some serious shit was about to hit the fan. As the look grew more intense, Castiel began to fear for Dean’s life. Sure, Gabe had never gotten someone killed in any of his ridiculous stunts (he had maimed a few victims and Castiel had had to bail his friend out of jail once for hospitalizing a man by running him over with a motorized shopping cart), but Gabe had never looked so disturbingly delighted before. Actually, he had, but there had been chocolate waffles involved, and not screwing people, so Castiel didn’t count that event. 

Castiel swallowed another swig of beer. “Gabriel, whatever you are thinking…”

“You like him.” Gabe points his half-empty bottle at Castiel, a grin once again on his face, which means he’s finished his plotting and is now ready to act on his scheme. “You like Dean, that’s why you’re always staring at him, even though you know his face. It’s because you like his face.”

“He does have nice freckles.” Castiel had always been fond of freckled subjects. Freckles were like snowflakes to Castiel: no two splashes of freckles were alike. Having freckles meant that one was likely to be a reoccurring subject in Castiel Milton’s sketches, at least until the pattern of freckles had been conquered and, satisfied, Castiel would move along to another bystander.  
But Gabe didn’t mean that Dean had nice freckles. Gabe was sure he did (he trusted Castiel on certain features of a person), but it wasn’t the freckles that had drawn Castiel in, and Gabe knew this for a fact. Castiel had acted differently around the bartender, more self-conscious and awkward and protective of the table art. That and the red light show Castiel’s face put on every time that Dean was in range. It was the tell-tale blush of a fresh infatuation, and of course, Castiel would be far too naïve to be able to comprehend that he was attracted to an absolute stranger. 

Gabe knows this. Gabe understands the underlying message in all the blushing and nonsense sprouting from the opposite side of the table. Castiel was developing a crush on this Dean guy, and Gabe was going to make sure that his lonely friend got something from this whole episode. Castiel was twenty-seven, and his social life consisted of Gabe, sketching like a madman, and watching Doctor Who for hours. Gabe would be a shitty friend if he didn’t at least try to set Castiel up with the bartender.

“Cas… sometimes I wonder how you ever survived four years of pre-med alone before you fled Maine and joined me here. You’re seriously bad at this game.” Gabe takes another sip of his beer, grinning around the bottleneck. “Are you really that oblivious?”

“Oblivious? To what?” Castiel tilts his head to the side, the way he always does whenever he is completely clueless as to what is going on around him. It made him look like a curious puppy, and it made Gabe realise just how naïve his friend was. Gabe finished the bottle and ran his hand through his hair. “Well, fine. I’ll just have to spell it out for you. Okay, so…”

Gabe leans forward and pointed at Castiel, whose head was still tilted. “You, Castiel Milton, have the hots for Dean,” Gabe points over to where Dean is serving people from behind the bar, “and I,” Gabe now points to himself, “am going to make sure that you two get together, if it kills me. Which it might, seeing as you can’t even speak to the guy.”

“I’m not experienced in these things the way you are.” Castiel trails his fingers over the lines of the Dean-sketch, once again mesmerised by the man’s face. Gabe lets Castiel admire his work for a few moments as Gabe thinks about what Castiel had just said. Yes, Gabe had dated before, but the dates were more physical than anything else, and they had never lasted very long. It worked for Gabe, but Castiel wasn’t Gabe, not even close. Which meant that Gabe actually had no experience.

“This is going to be interesting.” Gabe mutters to himself as Castiel continues to focus on the sketch. “Psh… interesting doesn’t even come close to what this’ll be like.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas meets Dean, again, and Gabe is a really bad wingman. Until he's not.

Two weeks had passed since Castiel had gone out for a beer with Gabe. Two weeks had passed since CSAH had asked Castiel for a showing. Two weeks had passed since Castiel had met a freckled bartender by the name of Dean. Two weeks had passed since Gabe had sworn that he would get Casteil a date with Dean. One week had passed since Gabe had told Castiel that he had bought three tickets to the art show, one for Gabe, one for Dean, and one for Dean’s brother that Dean said was “more into the art stuff anyway.” 

And now, the time had finally come. Castiel’s show was tonight, and Castiel had nothing to do too keep his mind off of the upcoming social event. He had tried sketching, which was what he usually did whenever he was nervous, but that hadn’t worked, and the sketches had all come out badly. Castiel’s anxiety was getting the better of him, and he still had a few hours before he had to leave to go to the CSAH presentation. Castiel pulled at the sleeves of his trench coat, and glanced over at the large metal clock that hung above the tiny kitchen table in the kitchen of his apartment. Blue eyes flew open; three hours had somehow slipped away from Castiel’s life, and now only an hour was remaining between now and Castiel’s doom AKA art show. 

After all, Dean would be there, somewhere in the crowd, and Castiel couldn’t face Dean, not now, probably not ever.

If it weren’t for the fact that Castiel’s work was the art being shown, Castiel would probably just skip out on the whole thing and stay home, safe, in his apartment, and alone. But one does not skip out on his own upscale art show. Especially if it’s his first, and his best friend just so happens to know where he lives, and is not above crawling through an air vent and kidnapping a trench coat clad artist.

Castiel decided that sealing off all of his windows and air vents to prevent future attacks of Gabe would be a good idea, and it would also keep his mind off of his impending doom. He was in the middle of duct-taping off the final air vent when he heard the sound of his door being slammed open and a familiar voice called out, “Cas, I’m baaack!”

“Hello, Gabriel.” Castiel slid the roll of duct tape onto the sleeve of his trench coat and left the hallway to go to the front of his apartment to greet his friend. Gabe had already taken off the blazer (the shorter man was already dressed in a suit for the show but Castiel was not) and was sitting on a countertop, looking like he owned the place as usual. Upon noticing Castiel’s half-assed I was in the middle of something artistic when you entered into my life attire, Gabe’s eyebrows shoot up. “Well, aren’t you under dressed.”

“I know. I was duct-taping the air vents.” Castiel pulled off the roll of tape and sat it down on the counter next to Gabe. Gabe shrugs. “If that’s how you wanna secure the place, go for it. You still have to get dressed, Cas. CSAH doesn’t care if you’re the artist; if you aren’t in a suit they’ll be pissed.”

Castiel nodded, and left Gabe in the front of the apartment so that he (Castiel) can go change into his suit. Fifteen minutes and a backwards tie later, and Castiel was back, throwing his trench coat back on and ignoring the look Gabe was giving him. Castiel always wore his trench coat; it was something like a child’s safety blanket to him, a comforting item that made the user feel safe no matter what the environment was. Castiel wasn’t going to leave his trench coat behind, not for something as terrifying as having an art show where people other than hipsters would make their appearances known. And Dean would be there too, Dean, the green-eyed, freckled bartender that had filled up most of Castiel’s brand new sketch book, as well as every other blank piece of paper Castiel had gotten his hands on in the past two weeks. To say that Castiel was obsessed would be the understatement of the millennia. Castiel had never drawn a person as many times as he had drawn Dean (Gabe included, even though Castiel had been drawing Gabe for twelve years and had only known Dean for two weeks. What the fuck was up with that?). Castiel decided to keep that little piece of information to himself; he didn’t think that Gabe would be too happy to hear that Castiel apparently valued an almost stranger over a best friend of twelve years. Of course there was the alternate product, which would be Gabe telling Dean that Castiel had an awkward little (big) crush on him. Castiel didn’t really want that. 

Gabe slid off the counter, bringing Castiel back to reality. “Alright, fine. Wear the damn trench coat. But if we’re going to get there on time, then we should probably leave five minutes ago.”

“Taxi.” Castiel said, because he hates the subway. He hated all the people shoving around, hated sitting next to strangers who played shitty music too loud with their head phones on, hated having people recognise him and try to talk to him in public. Subways were crowded. Subways had people. Castiel didn’t do crowded, nor did he do people. 

They ended up taking a taxi halfway across New York City, pulling up in front of the marble staircase that had the words Chuck Shurley Art Hall printed across the front in a metallic colour that Castiel presumed was actual gold; this place was no one’s playground. 

Castiel stepped out after Gabe, his hands shaking as he paid the driver. This was it. It all ended here, and Castiel felt as though he were about to bring back his lunch from three (or more, time wasn’t making much sense to Castiel at the moment) hours ago. Castiel swallowed, his throat dry, and turned to Gabe. He shook his head. “I can’t do this, Gabriel.”

“Yes you can.” Gabe stepped back down from the two stairs that he had already walked up. “Castiel James Milton, I swear to all things made of sugar that I will carry you into that building, over my shoulder like a dead man, if I have to, but even if you just stay back in a corner for the whole damned thing, you are going into that building.”

“Dean’s in there.” Castiel said, but he didn’t resist when Gabe grabbed his arm and pulled Castiel up the stairs. Gabe didn’t bother to look back at Castiel when he replied with “well, duh, he’s supposed to be there. I invited him. I’d be personally offended if the mutton head didn’t show his face.”

I’d be offended too are Castiel’s final thoughts before the doors swing open and a man tries to take Castiel’s trench coat away. Castiel nearly leaps onto the nearest person (who happens to be Gabriel) to try to keep from losing his trench coat to a closet full of other people’s coats where it might be given to some other attendee by mistake. Gabe shoves Castiel away and gives the door man his blazer, then apologises for Castiel being a possessive bastard about the trench coat. Gabe turns on his camera (which is slung around his neck as it always is whenever Gabe’s not at his apartment) and stuffs the lens cap into his pocket. With one hand on the camera, Gabe strides past Castiel and into the crowd, searching out new subjects (or victims, depending on who’s asking). Castiel makes his own way through the people, maneuvering the way a skilled New Yorker would. Not that Castiel should really be able to qualify as “skilled,” seeing as, in the six years he’s lived in New York City, he’s only gone out of his apartment a few times a month. Gabe always comes over to Castiel’s apartment, and brings food often. Castiel usually only has to go outside for some commissions and to reload his art supplies. 

Castiel recognises most of the people there; he’s seen them outside of the windows of his apartment, or on those rare occasions where he has to go to a client’s house instead of the client coming to him. These people are not important to Castiel; he’s only ever drawn them once, and he probably won’t be drawing them ever again. He has no reason to. They serve no purpose in Castiel’s life other than being another face in the never ending crowd. Why bother wasting paper on them when he could be trying out new faces? Or drawing Dean, who is currently storming between people, green eyes searching out something, or someone, in particular. Castiel ducks behind an older, balding man, keeping his eyes on Dean. He can’t let Dean see him, but he can’t stop watching the man as he moves swiftly through the crowds, the hazy light tinting his hair blond.   
I’m going to need a new sketchbook. Castiel thinks to himself as he continues to follow Dean through the crowd. Dean looks nice in a suit; he has the whole James Bond look going on, but the suit doesn’t seem as natural on the man as the leather jacket did when Castiel first saw him in the bar. Castiel thinks that Dean belongs in leather, in denim and layers and jeans. Relaxed yet still attractive. Because if Gabe’s opinion is to be believed (and in this case, Castiel thinks it is), then Castiel finds Dean to be attractive.

Castiel isn’t paying close enough attention to where he’s going, and so he finds himself colliding (literally) with a certain green-eyed, very attractive man by the name of Dean. Castiel freezes; he can’t move, he can’t even open his mouth to try and stutter out an apology that will most likely be nothing but noises, he can’t flee the building and never leave his apartment ever again like his instincts are telling him to do. 

“Oh sh—I mean, sorry. I didn’t… didn’t see you.” Dean steps back, one, two steps, his hands still in the air as a way of apologising. Castiel is still frozen in his trench coat. He has to get away, now, before Dean realises who the fuck he is talking to, and realises that this is the failure of a person and success of an artist that hurled a sharpie at him two weeks ago. Castiel has to get away before Dean starts talking to him, because there is no way in heaven, hell, or purgatory that Castiel will be able to get out of this conversation alive. Castiel knows that this attempt as conversing with a very attractive man who knows nothing about Cas Milton can and will only end one way: badly. Worse than the time two Christmases ago when Gabe forced Castiel to help him fly the Christmas tree off the top of Gabe’s apartment building.

But then Dean’s green eyes widen, and Castiel realises shit it’s too late he knows because Dean remembers Castiel from the first time that they met. And so Castiel is so royally fucked that he makes the king’s whores look like chaste virgins. Dean points at Castiel. “You’re Cas, right? Friends with the camera guy who told me to come to this thing?”

Somehow, Castiel’s neck muscles begin to work and he finds himself nodding in reply to Dean’s question. All the signs that Gabe had told him about are clicking into action now. Castiel’s heart is pounding, he can feel his face heating up and he knows that his face is turning red. His throat is dry and he can’t think about anything other than the fact that Dean has a freckle on the edge of his upper lip, and Castiel is hating himself that he didn’t notice that detail the first time, because now he has to draw Dean again to get his face right. Also, Dean has slight stubble that Castiel missed, or maybe that’s because Castiel caught Dean on a non-shaving day today. Either way, Castiel’s going to have to draw some more Dean.

He also wants to count all of Dean’s freckles so that he doesn’t miss any of them in the next round of Dean drawings. Dean doesn’t let him do that; Dean turns away from Castiel and to the paintings. “So, all this is yours?”

Dean points to a particular piece, a portrait of Castiel’s younger sister, Anna, drawn when Castiel was still part of the Milton family. Gabe had been the one to choose that portrait, because Gabe didn’t know that Castiel hated looking at the old portraits of his family members. They just reminded him of the one decision that he hadn’t been able to avoid: having his family’s acceptance or being able to do what made him feel semi-normal. Castiel had chosen the second, had chosen to become an artist, and had promptly been kicked to the curb by his own flesh and blood. Anna hadn’t vouched for Castiel’s cause, (Gabe had, he had been there as the only moral support Castiel could find) she had just stood there and watched as she lost her brother. She’s just let him go without trying to protect him at all.

“Y-yes.” Castiel felt like he was yanking the word out from the depths of his throat. Eating sandpaper, Castiel thought, would be smoother and easier than doing this. But at the same time that he thought that, Castiel knew that he still wanted to be around Dean. This qualified as another sign of attraction, according to the all-knowing Gabriel Speight. 

“They’re all really good.” Dean shoved his hands into his pockets. Castiel could tell that he wasn’t an artistically inclined person; Dean probably wouldn’t be able to identify any artists’ works other than the basic and well-known ones. Still, the compliment warmed Castiel more than any other eloquent praise he could have received from the highest of art critics (who wouldn’t have praised him anyway; Castiel learned long ago that no art critic ever outright says something nice about an artist). They’re all really good meant so much more to Castiel because Castiel wanted Dean to like him and to find him interesting, because if Dean decided that Castiel was interesting and worth his time then that meant that Castiel would have a chance. Castiel could learn how to act like a normal member of society around Dean (and maybe some other people, depending on how long this took). 

Castiel could get Dean to like him too, if only Dean thought he was interesting. And Dean thought he was interesting.

Success.

Somehow, the two of them had ended up in front of the portrait of Anna. Dean’s eyes flickered across the canvas, taking it all in. Castiel waited beside Dean, waiting for the questions that he knew would soon come out of the bartender’s mouth. Castiel knew   
that they would be asked, but that didn’t mean he wanted (or was prepared to) answer any of them.

“Who’s that?” Dean motions to the picture. “She’s attractive.”

“Thank you…” Castiel’s words ghosted past his lips and into the air around them, disappearing into the murmur of the other voices before Dean could hear them. Castiel could barely hear his own words; they had been so quiet. Thank you. Castiel didn’t mind when people complemented his work; he appreciated it for the most part but he had never really thought that he was deserving of their praise. Sure, he had given up some things to get to where he was now, but everyone had to make sacrifices. Castiel was not that special. 

“You’ve probably been asked this a bunch of times before, and you’re probably getting tired of having to answer the same question… but, uh, is she your girlfriend or something?” If Castiel’s mind was not currently being over-ridden by his nerves, he might have cracked a smile, perhaps even laughed, at the sheer ridiculousness of him having a girlfriend. Instead, Castiel just stared at Dean, trying to process whether he was being serious or not (Castiel still hadn’t figured out how to decipher sarcasm from sincerity). He was also getting distracted by various features of Dean’s face that the dim lights of the bar had failed to pick up two weeks prior.

Dean had asked him a question, though, and Castiel (social genius that he is) was just staring at the man. One day, Castiel will get a warning label stamped on his face (probably by Gabe) that will say to approach with caution, or risk exposure to social awkwardness that will most likely make radiation poisoning seem like a more comfortable death. 

“Cas? You still there?” Dean placed his hand on Castiel’s shoulder and looked at the shorter man with genuine concern. Or at least Castiel assumed that the concern was genuine, but he was kind of really having a hard time keeping his mind together because Dean is touching him and any chance of having a rational thought sequence has now totally disappeared from the reaches of Castiel’s mind because they are rather close to each other…

“I… eeh…” Castiel sounded like a horse giving birth to a whale, and so he shut his mouth, turned red, took a breath through his nose, took another, and then tried again. He shudders the words out. “Wh-what wa-as the… the… qu-question…?”

Dean laughed, and it was one of (okay, you know what, fuck that, it definitely was) the best sounds Castiel had ever heard in his life, ever. Dean took his hand off of Castiel’s shoulder and Castiel regained the ability to properly change oxygen into carbon dioxide once more. Dean flashed Castiel a slightly too large grin. “I asked if she was your girlfriend or not.”

“Sh-she’s… n-not. No.” Castiel blurted out. His face turned the colour of Anna’s hair because of his damn voice. It was so gravelly and deep and it just didn’t work with his personality. That was Castiel’s own personal opinion on his voice, of course, seeing as no one else had ever told Castiel that there was something wrong with how his voice sounded. So maybe it wasn’t as bad as Castiel thought it was. Castiel swallowed, nearly choking on air as he did so. Gabe was right; he really did suck at the whole interacting with the outside world thing. “Sis-sister.”

“Oh. Cool.” Dean nodded, probably wondering (once again) why Castiel kept staring at him. Castiel knows that he has a staring problem, and that his problem disturbs a lot of people a lot of the time, but he just can’t stop it, he can’t stop staring, especially around Dean. Dean’s just so… Dean. Dean was also talking to Castiel again, so maybe Castiel should come back out of his head and try to focus on the words and not eh mouth that they’re coming out of.

“… and my brother, Sam, he’s here somewhere. Your friend invited him… okay, actually, I invited Sam, but your friend had no problem with it. Anyway, Sam’s here… somewhere.” Dean looked past Castiel and searched the crowd to try and find his brother, but was unsuccessful. “We were trying to find the son of a bitch that candid-photoed us, so I guess Sam just went off in a different direction from me or something. He’s kind of an art nerd. He likes your stuff.”

“Oh.” Another compliment. Castiel was starting to think that Dean was thrown into Castiel’s life for the sole purpose of testing out how embarrassed and red-faced Castiel could possibly become while in the presence of a single person. Castiel rubbed the back of his neck and became very interested in the tiles on the floor (actually, Castiel did not find the tiles very interesting at all, but he had heard that people tended to look down at the floor to help overcome their embarrassment, and so he thought that he would try it. It didn’t help). He tried to stay in reality and not crawl back into his mind. “Um… th-thank y-you…?”

“Yeah.” Castiel can feel Dean’s gaze on him; Dean is trying to figure out what the hell is wrong with Castiel. Castiel can tell because, if this conversation was happening with anyone else, they would have backed away slowly by now instead of still hanging around to see what Castiel would do next. Castiel looked up at Dean. And then lost the ability to oxygenate for the second time in this conversation.

Wait. Pause. Stop whatever the fuckbagels you were doing. Castiel Milton is having a conversation with another person whose name is not Gabe. Castiel Milton is having a conversation on his own free will. And now, cue the apocalypse.

Okay, not really. But still. Gabe would be proud, because despite the fact that what Castiel and Dean are having is awkward and choppy, it still qualifies as conversation. Castiel nearly choked when he realised that, and was saved from immortal embarrassment because Dean kept talking. Thank you, Dean.

“You don’t look very comfortable here. Do you wanna go sit down or something?” Dean says, and Castiel decides that his best option at the moment is to just keep his mouth shut and nod and follow Dean over to where there are tiny tables set up for people to pause at when they aren’t looking at the artwork. Castiel and Dean sat down at a table close to the bar, and Dean leaned forward, his elbows on the table. They’re work hands, Castiel thought as his blue eyes took in the structured, callused appendages; hands had never before been the focal point of Castiel’s work because he had kept himself trained on people’s faces. Now, however, he was considering learning the fine art of making realistic looking hands, for the sake of Dean’s hands only.

“Better?” Dean’s voice dragged Castiel’s eyes back up to his favourite subjects face. Castiel nodded. “I… I’m b-bad at… p-people… t-t-talking to… to th-them…”

“I could tell.” Dean leaned back as a server passed by and grabbed two drinks. He handed one to Castiel with a smile. Castiel took the drink from Dean, gave the man an awkward and curt nod, and emptied the vial in one long gulp. Castiel has a tendency to drink fast and hold his liquor well; he blames Gabriel for that as it was Gabriel’s fault for Castiel discovering that alcohol can help in social situations. Castiel swallowed again, this time swallowing nothing but his own saliva, and wished that there had been a bit more in the glass so that he would have had time to gather up his thoughts and attempt normal conversation with Dean. Castiel wanted to talk to Dean; he was just socially awkward and shy beyond belief. 

“So, uh, how long have you been doing… art-stuff?” Dean finished the question with a note of uncertainty. Dean didn’t know what he should classify Castiel’s drawings as since art wasn’t his area of expertise. Dean smiled again to try to cover his lack of knowledge on the subject. “Because you’re good. Freaking fantastic, Cas. They look like photographs.”

“Th-they… aren’t…” And then Castiel was blushing again as he looked down at the pristine white tablecloth. He wanted another drink, because he needed something for his hands to do , otherwise he was afraid that he would end up drawing on the tablecloth, which would most likely get him kicked out. Wealthy people didn’t like it when awkward artist drew on their stuff.  
Also, getting kicked out of one’s own art show is never a good sign. Ever.

“How’d you learn to draw like that, anyway?” If Castiel were to look up at Dean, he would realize that the man was genuinely interested in Castiel’s art and that even though Dean knew almost nothing about the art world he was currently in the middle of, he was still trying. That was more than Castiel could say about himself and his interactions with people; Castiel preferred to avoid people as much as he could.

“I… t-taught my--myself…” Castiel stuttered, and mentally smacked himself for it. He might have been stuttering, but at least what he was saying was English now and not dying animal sounds. 

“Could you draw something? Now?” Castiel looked up at Dean, his head tilted to the right. Dean wanted him to draw? “H-here? R-really…?” 

Apparently Castiel asked that question out loud, because Dean nodded and then dug through his inside jacket pocket, looking for a piece of paper. He pulled one out after a few seconds; it was a receipt from the bar, with a blank back side, and he held it out to Castiel with a grin that Castiel fell for immediately. Dean slid it across the table, to Castiel. “Do you think this’ll work?”  
Castiel nodded and pulled out his sharpie pen from his pocket. It was the same pen that he had dropped on the floor (read: flung at Dean) of the bar where he was first met Dean, and that’s what Castiel was thinking as he began creating another Dean drawing. Dean, in the ink-sketch Castiel was working on, was holding out the sharpie pen, two beers entwined between the fingers of his other hand. There was a half-hidden smile on his face. This Dean was mostly in Castiel’s mind, but he was slowly oozing out onto the back of an old receipt. Real Dean, the one sitting across from Castiel, was watching Castiel draw with his face blank, his amazement hidden behind the green eyes that had always captured Castiel’s attention the most. The two men sat there; Castiel drew Dean with a sharpie that would soon run out of ink (and was probably bleeding through the paper and onto the tablecloth, but Castiel wasn’t thinking about that at the moment) and Dean was watching himself be drawn by an (almost) complete stranger.

“Done.” Castiel said, to himself and not to Dean. He had actually forgotten that he was drawing with an audience because he had gotten so into his work. Castiel did that often; he would start drawing, get into it, finish, look up, and wonder where the hell he was and how he had gotten there. Castiel tilted his head to the side again and his blue eyes flicked from one Dean to the other. 

“Wh-what?”

“You drew me.” Stating the obvious, of course, but Dean’s voice brought Castiel’s thoughts back to order. That was somewhat ironic, seeing as it was Dean who usually caused Castiel’s mind to either implode or stop functioning, or both at the same time.  
Dean grasped a corner of the receipt between his fingers and started to pull it away from Castiel, his eyes on the dark-haired man as he did so. He was making sure that it was okay to examine the art, making sure that Castiel Milton wasn’t one of those anal-retentive artist types who didn’t let anyone touch anything of theirs. Castiel let Dean take the sketch; he stared back at Dean and make sure not to show any signs of discontent as Dean took the sketch. Dean broke the staring first by looking down at the almost perfect replica of himself from two weeks ago.

Castiel snagged another drink and downed it like it was water. It wasn’t, and it burned Castiel’s throat as he swallowed, but Castiel didn’t care because Dean was looking at one of the hundreds of portraits Castiel had made of Dean, and he isn’t questioning how Castiel remembers what he looked like two weeks ago when he was serving Gabe and Castiel beer. Dean looked back up and met Castiel’s eyes. “I’m guessing you were the one who drew my face on one of the tables then, huh? Sam saw it and thought if was from some creepy secret admirer or something.”

And then Castiel was blushing again; his mouth opened and closed as he tried to formulate words. Castiel coughed, swallowed, and then coughed again. He ran a hand trough his hair, making it stand up at odd angles. “I… I’m n-not… c-c-creepy, r-right…?”

“No, Cas, you’re just an artist. Drawing me is okay. Just, uh, do everyone a favour and try to stay off the tables, ‘kay?” Dean smirked, and Castiel’s mouth twitched, about to be a smile. Castiel somehow managed to nod. “O-okay…”

The crowds were thinning, which meant that the show was almost over, and it was time for Castiel to find Gabe and go home. Castiel didn’t really want to leave yet, because he was with Dean, and Dean was willing to try to talk to him, and Castiel didn’t feel the need to go retreat into the corner around Dean. Castiel likes Dean, and can (somewhat) be around him.

But then Dean stood up and pulled out his phone, and Castiel realised that it really was time to go, so he slipped out of his chair and left to go find Gabe without saying goodbye to Dean. Castiel wasn’t being rude; he just wasn’t used to having successful conversations with anyone other than Gabe, who usually just ended a conversation with a snappy comment before striding off.   
Dean noticed Castiel trying to slip away into the crowd, and called after the trench coat clad artist. Castiel turned around, startled to hear someone calling him Cas and not Castiel, but then relaxed slightly when he realised that it was only Dean. He let Dean come over to him, but when Dean held out his phone to Castiel, Castiel tilted his head, confused once again. “… Phone?”

“Put your number in, so I can call you.” Dean said, and then tossed the phone into Castiel’s outstretched hands. “It was nice talking to you, Cas. You’re kinda awkward… but you’re an art guy, so that’s okay. I can get used to that.”

Castiel stared down at the phone. His hands were trembling because he was touching something of Dean’s and for some reason that made him both nervous and excited at the same time. Castiel blamed the whole attraction-slash-crush thing Gabe had told him about. Castiel tapped in the number of his rarely used cell phone (who would he call besides Gabe?) before he handed the phone back to Dean. “Thank… y-you.”

“No problem.” Dean looked at him oddly, but Castiel had expected that. Even though Dean said that he was okay with Castiel’s awkwardness, that didn’t mean that Dean knew what he was getting himself into. Castiel knew that he was odd, that he was socially unacceptable, but despite that, Dean had accepted him and so everything else would be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about not updating this thing.... I keep forgetting that I actually have an account on here...


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone crashes at Cas's apartment. Cas doesn't know how he feels about playing host.

Gabe was at Castiel’s apartment this time, pacing back and forth behind Castiel’s couch and thinking. That meant that Gabe was silent. That meant that Castiel was having a hard time paying attention to the Doctor Who episode he was trying to watch, because a quiet Gabe is never a good Gabe, at least for Castiel. Castiel shifts his position on the couch, pulling his trench coat closer around him, and tries to ignore Gabe’s silence.

Ignoring silence is hard, because it’s _silence_. It begs to be noticed, especially on someone who is usually loud.

“Have you talked to Dean recently?” Gabe asks out of nowhere, and Castiel jumps a bit. He settles back down and turns to Gabe after pausing the Doctor Who episode. “No… I… I texted him… he called… but I… I… just… ignoredthecalls.”

“Way to be a dick, Cas.” Gabe rolls his eyes, moving over to lean against the end of the couch that Castiel is not sitting on. “Here’s some advice: if you like a guy, and you _do_ , you don’t ignore his calls! I don’t care that you are an awkward fuckball! If you ignore him, he’ll lose interest and move on!”

“I texted him…” Castiel says, even though he’s pretty sure that’s a weak argument. He texted Dean once, and that was two days after the art show.

“How many times, Cas?” Gabriel leans towards Castiel, his eyes narrowed like he knows that Castiel is bluffing. Of course Gabe knows. Gabe knows these kinds of things. Castiel, however, does not know how to call a bluff, or to tell if someone is interested in someone, and so he is forced to rely on Gabe. Again. Castiel’s eyes move across the room to where his cell is sitting beside the toaster, hooked up and charging. “Once… should I… should I call him now?”

“No, Cas, keep ignoring him.” Gabe is being sarcastic, of course, but the sarcasm flies over Castiel’s head and so the artist doesn’t move to get his phone. He just stares at Gabe, and Gabe stares back, waiting for Castiel to move. Castiel doesn’t, he just continues observing Gabe’s face. Eventually, Gabe figures out that Castiel didn’t get it, and so he gets up off the couch, gives an over-dramatic sigh, stalks over to the cell phone, flips it open, finds Dean’s number, and calls it. Castiel watches with his head tilted. “I th-thought you s-said I didn’t… have t-to call…”

“Sarcasm, Castiel. I was using it.” Gabe rolls his eyes again, and then grins as the call is picked up by Dean. “Hey, Dean, this is Cas’s friend, calling you because Cas here is too scared to call you on his own.”

Dean says something, but Castiel can’t tell what, so he gets up off the couch and walks over to Gabe. “Can you… p-put him on speakerphone? I don’t… trust you… with him.”

Gabe does so, placing the phone in front of Castiel’s toaster. Gabe leans forward, his palms pressed against the countertop. “Oh, and you’re now on speaker. Cas just really wanted to hear your voice, I guess.”

Castiel flushes. He does like Dean’s voice, but Gabe doesn’t need to tell _Dean_ that. Castiel wishes that he had something that he could use against Gabe, just to keep Gabe from spilling to Dean about the crush that Castiel apparently has on him. But, of course, Gabe is just one of those people who doesn’t get embarrassed about anything.

“Okay…?” Dean’s voice crackles back. “Why’d you call, anyway?”

“Do you like pizza?” Gabe asks, and Castiel tilts his head, not sure that he’s following Gabe’s train of thought. He’s pretty sure he’s on a whole different track and missed the jump. Gabe senses Castiel’s staring, and turns and winks before going back to the phone. “Because Cas and I are bored, and we were thinking about ordering some, and if you aren’t doing any job thing this afternoon, Cas wants you to get your ass over here.”

Castiel glares at Gabe and jabs his friend in the arm. Gabe, bastard that he is, just grins and gives Castiel another wink of doom.

“Sure, I guess.” There’s another voice in the background, a voice that Dean starts talking to, asking him (Castiel guesses it’s another guy, from the deepness of it) if he’s available to go to Castiel’s apartment. Of course, Dean refers to Castiel as Cas, because that’s the only thing Dean’s ever heard someone refer to Castiel as. The other voice gives an affirmative, and then Dean’s back to Castiel and Gabe. “Hey, my brother’s off of work today… mind if I bring him along as well?”

“Sure, why the hell not. See you when you get here.” Gabe says, then gives Dean the address and room number of Castiel’s apartment. Gabe then hangs up the phone and turns to Castiel. He bows in a flurry of hands and flipping hair. “And that, my dear Castiel, is how it’s done.”

“What’s done?” Castiel tilts his head again. He’s been doing that a lot recently, ever since meeting Dean almost two months ago. Dean’s really messed with Castiel’s formerly methodic little world, and Castiel should be terrified about that, and he should be running around in circles and screaming, but instead, he’s just smiling blankly at Gabe. Gabe is probably thinking that Castiel has finally lost it, but answers Castiel’s question anyway.

“Socialising with people. Making friends.” Gabe pokes Castiel in the chest. “Getting dates with bartenders named Dean.”

“This is a date?!” Castiel’s eyes fly open; he’s now in panic mode. Castiel isn’t ready for dates, not yet, maybe not ever, and he has no idea if Dean even likes him. Well, Dean obviously likes him to a certain extent because Dean is willing to come over to Castiel’s apartment, and is willing to bring his own brother (Castiel has a feeling that Dean’s familial relationships are in a better state than his own), but Castiel doesn’t think that Dean likes him, likes him.

“Cas, don’t worry. It’s not a date. Dean’s brother and I are going to be here. And, while I can’t vouch for Dean’s brother because I don’t know if I’ve ever met the guy, I know that I’m not so much of an ass that I’d leave you alone with Dean this early in the game.” Gabe pats Castiel on his shoulder before returning to Castiel’s phone to order the pizzas. Castiel doesn’t know why Gabe can’t just use his own phone, but he doesn’t really get a chance to question it. As soon as the pizzas are ordered, Gabe claps his hands together. “Alright, now that that has been taken care of, what do we do now?”

“Doctor Who?” Castiel pokes his thumb at the paused episode of Doctor Who. Gabe isn’t a fan the way that Castiel is, but he’s the one who got Cas into the show twelve years ago, so he shrugs and jumps over the couch, not waiting for Castiel to join him before he resumes the episode already in progress.

The pizzas arrive before Dean and his brother, so Castiel has to figure out what to do with them until the two other guests get to Castiel’s apartment. Eventually, Gabe tells him to just leave them out on the counter, because they won’t go bad in the next few minutes, and that Castiel needs to get his ass back to the couch because if he doesn’t, Gabe is starting the next episode without him.

Then, when there’s a knock on the door, alerting Castiel (and Gabe) that Dean and his brother have arrived, Gabe makes Castiel get the door. Castiel does, running a hand through his (surprisingly not messy) hair on his way over. His hair is not longer in order when he opens the door to face Dean and another man who’s taller than Dean, but probably a few years younger. Castiel memorizes Dean’s brother’s face before his blue gaze goes immediately to Dean. Dean grins and holds up two six packs. “Sam and I brought drinks; hope you don’t mind.”

“H-hello… D-Dean.” Castiel crunches out, captivated by how the sunset coming in from the window behind him captures the intense green of Dean’s eyes.

“So, this is Cas Milton?” Sam says from beside his brother. Dean looks away from Castiel, but Castiel is still looking at Dean when the other man says, “Yeah, this is Cas. Cas, this is your own personal fan, my brother, Sam.”

Castiel glances at Sam and probably nods or something before the two brothers enter the apartment. Dean’s arm brushes against Castiel’s and Castiel’s face darkens to a nice shade of red because of the contact. Castiel stops staring at Dean long enough to realise that the door is still open and that he can’t just let anyone into his apartment, unlike Gabe, who left his door open on purpose  once just to see how many people would come in to try to take any of his things. Castiel isn’t Gabe, and this isn’t an experiment, so he closes the door and comes back into the main area of his apartment to see Gabe and Sam staring at each other with looks that Castiel doesn’t understand.

Gabe breaks the awkward silence first, as usual. “Well, this is completely unexpected. You’re Dean’s brother?”

“You’re Cas’s friend?” Sam replies, seeming to be as astounded by this whole thing as Gabe is. they’ve obviously met before; Castiel can tell that much. Gabe smiles, then smirks, then starts laughing, and Castiel backs into the wall farthest from Gabe and closest to the door out of the apartment, and wishing that Dean wasn’t so far away so that he could grab the man and try to save him from whatever Gabe is trying to do. Because Castiel has a feeling that whatever epiphany Gabe is currently having is only going to tilt Castiel’s world further, and it will probably take some unsuspecting victims with it. However, there’s still that part of Castiel that doesn’t really mind how off-kilter his life is becoming, because Dean would have never happened if Gabe hadn’t pushed Castiel a few times.

“Yeah, I am.” Gabe says finally, still grinning. “Oh, this is too perfect,” he glances at Castiel, “you know that guy I told you about? The one I’ve been seeing for the past month-ish? Well, turns out that he’s right here… Dean’ brother, Sam.”

“Wait, you’re dating my brother?” Dean looks at Gabe with what Castiel suspects is the protective older brother look. Castiel never got to give that look to any of his sister’s dates, because Castiel never showed his face when he lived at home with his family, before he and Gabe had gone off to New York.

Gabe’s obviously seen the look before, because the smile drops off of the photographer’s face, and his hands go to his camera, which is around his neck like it always is. Gabe swallows. “Yes…?”

“Dean, he’s fine, I promise.” Sam almost face-palms (a term that Castiel learned from Gabe), obviously annoyed by his brother’s over-protectiveness. Dean backs off, but he keeps watching Gabe while the four guys get their pizza and beers and go back to the couch. Gabe retreats to one end, Sam sits down next to Gabe, Dean sits next to Sam, and Castiel makes his way to the chair off to the side. Gabe’s words stop him. “No, Cas. Couch, now.”

“Th-th-there’s not… enough r-room…” Castiel says, knowing full well that resistance is futile. Gabe would probably physically turn the couch into a four-seater if it meant that Castiel would have to sit next to Dean. Because that’s what Gabe’s doing: he’s trying to get Dean and Castiel together, and Castiel knows that Gabe won’t give up on them until they confess their love for each other, probably in front of Gabe himself so that the blonde photographer will have proof that it actually happened. And everything counts in Gabe’s world, including having Castiel and Dean sit next to each other on the couch that really should only fit three people.

“Yes, there is.” Gabe leans across both Winchester brothers, shoves his hands under Dean’s left thigh, and pulls both Sam and Dean towards himself, so that the three of them are all mashed into each other and the couch, leaving a space made for someone smaller than Castiel. Gabe points at the empty half-spot. “Sit your ass down, Castiel Milton.”

“Sam, get your ridiculous boyfriend off of me.” Dean attempts to push Gabe off of his, But Gabe just smirks up at the older Winchester brother. Gabe’s not going to move until Castiel sits down in the available portion of couch. Castiel decides to relieve Dean of the awkwardness that is having your thigh hugged by your brother’s boyfriend, and sits down on the couch and kind of on Dean. The two shuffle around so that they’re properly situated, and when they’re done, Castiel sighs into his plate. “This c-couch was… n-n-not… made f-for four grown… m-men.”

“Aye.” Dean says, and folds his arms over his chest. He leans back, his right shoulder crushing into Sam’s left arm. Sam winces and Dean adjusts his arm. “Sorry, Sammy.”

“Sammy?” Gabe perks up at the nickname, an inquisitive smile on his face. He looks up at Sam. “So, can I call you Sammy, then?”

“No.” Both brothers say at the same time, and Castiel realises that the _speak at the same time_ thing must be reserved for siblings only. He’s never done it with Gabe, but once Gabe and his older brother had said something at the same time, something along the lines of _Michael is a complete and total dick_ , and they had given each other the _we never speak of this occasion again_ looks afterwards. Sam and Dean aren’t doing that, so Castiel supposes that the two Winchesters have a history of saying things at the same time.

“I’m the only one allowed to call him Sammy.” Dean points to himself. He’s turned away from Castiel, so the only part of Dean that Castiel can see is the back of Dean’s head. “And I get to do that because I’m his brother.”

“Well, damn.” Gabe drops back into the couch, leaning on his elbow; his other hand takes off the camera lens and he starts flipping it around between his fingers. The four men settle into silence, Castiel doing his best to not stare at Dean for more than a minute at a time. Castiel feels awkward. He feels like he should be saying something to Dean, maybe give him a reason for not answering any of the man’s calls. Castiel isn’t sure how he should broach the subject…

_“Dean… can I… I’m sorry.” Castiel blurts out, his face turning red instantly. Dean turns and stares at him, unsure as to what the apologising for. Dean, of course, is better at communication than Castiel, and so he can actually ask a question without stuttering over the words the way Castiel does. “What are you sorry for, Cas? You haven’t done anything wrong…”_

_“I didn’t… I… I didn’t call you back… s-s-sorry.” Castiel is now staring at the floor. He regrets ever opening his mouth in the first place. He should have known that this wouldn’t work out. Hell, he_ did _know that this wouldn’t work out, but he was stupid enough to go through with it anyway._

_“Hey, I get it, Cas. You’re busy. You have all that artist stuff to deal with.” Dean smiles at Castiel, even though Castiel is looking at the floor and doesn’t see the smile. Dean’s smile fades as quickly as it appears, and he puts his hand on Castiel’s shoulder. Castiel freezes, his muscles tensing up under Dean’s touch because Dean is touching him for reasons other than the fact that they are both squished on a couch that is meant for three people but is currently playing host to four. Castiel looks up at Dean and jumps in his seat; Dean’s face is really, really close to Castiel’s face. It’s closer than Dean expects, because Dean’s eyes widen and he moves back, giving Castiel room to breathe. Not enough, because Dean is still closer to Castiel than he needs to be. With Dean that close, Castiel is having a hard time remembering the necessity of oxygen, and Castiel can feel himself slowly drowning in himself. He’s not ready to be this close to Dean, not yet._

_Dean grips him tighter. “Cas, you okay? You don’t look so good…”_

_“I wasn’t busy I just didn’t answer you.” Castiel blurts out, in one breath, no spaces between words. It takes Dean a few seconds to figure out what Castiel said, but when he does, he looks offended. All Dean says in reply is “oh” and he goes back to the food, not saying another word to Castiel, not even looking at the dark-haired man, for the rest of the time that he and Sam are there._

_Dean doesn’t call Castiel again, and whenever Gabe asks what the hell happened between the two of them, Castiel just shakes his head. Castiel realises now that he was never supposed to have friends. Gabe’s appearance in Castiel’s life was just sheer luck. Patient, or insane, luck._

“Hey, Cas, you still with us?” Dean’s voice slices through Castiel’s mind. Castiel looks up, at Dean, who is still there, still sitting next to Castiel. That means that Castiel hasn’t screwed up yet, and he still has his chance to try out a new friendship. Or something more, if Gabe gets his hands on them, which he will, seeing as this is Gabe Castiel is talking (thinking) about, and Gabe does what he wants and gets what he wants, morals be damned.

“I… uh. Yeah.” Castiel nods, back in the good reality where Dean doesn’t know that Castiel ignored the calls because he was afraid of talking to Dean for fear of saying something ridiculous and loosing the only person he knows who isn’t on the verge of insane and hasn’t left him behind yet. Castiel nods. “H-hello. I’m… still h-here.”

“Okay. Because we’re gonna watch the new Batman thing now.” Dean says as someone (Castiel isn’t focused on the couple on the other side of Dean, for obvious reasons) starts the movie. Castiel doesn’t have a clue what’s goin on, seeing as he never really got into the whole Batman thing, but it doesn’t matter because as soon as the movie starts, Dean throws his arm onto the back of the couch, behind Castiel. His mostly empty, still somewhat cold and condensing beer bottle is barely hitting Castiel’s forearm through the trench coat. Castiel doesn’t know what to do at first, and so he tenses, trying not to touch Dean’s arm at all, which is there _because the couch is too damn small and he was losing feeling in his arm_ (Dean’s reasoning, in his own words). Eventually though, Castiel’s awkward position gets too uncomfortable and so Castiel leans back, thinking that it’s safe. He hits Dean’s arm, because he has the luck of someone stuck living Tuesday over and over again. Dean adjusts his arm so that it’s not touching Castiel’s shoulder blades any more. “Sorry, Cas. That was kinda awkward…”

“No… I live… w-w-with… Gabe.” Castiel whispers, hoping that Dean’s prior experiences with Gabe will speak for Castiel’s answer. He looks past Dean to see that Gabe is smirking; even though he’s still looking at the screen, Castiel knows that the smirk is meant for Dean and Castiel. Damn Gabe and his good hearing. He’s going to use that for whatever he’s got planned; Castiel can tell already.

“Kay.” Dean nods and turns back to the movie. Castiel gives up trying to pay attention to Batman, instead deciding to focus his energy on the man sitting beside him. Castiel wishes that he had his sketch book on him, so that he could be drawing Dean. That’s what he does in situations where he’d rather be doing something else; he pulls out his sketch pad and he draws. Unfortunately, his drawing supplies were all thrown into his bedroom by Gabe, in a crappy attempt to make the apartment look like it was used for something other than a giant art studio.

On the topic of Dean, the man beside Castiel has quickly become Castiel’s favourite subject. This is most likely happening because Castiel likes Dean for more than a subject of his art, and so Dean is in his head often. The people in Castiel’s head often end up on his paper. Castiel’s crush is just one of those things.

Thinking about this from the point of view of normal society, Castiel being twenty-seven and having a crush for the first time in his life is really weird and unheard of. Then again, Castiel didn’t even have a friend until he was almost sixteen, and so it could be that his whole emotional-relational development process is off. Castiel mentally adjusts the timeframe by ten years, which would, in theory, make him seventeen when he got his first crush, and around five or six when he made his first friend. The crush is still a bit late, what with the whole guys getting hormones and shit, but at least, in that theoretical standing, Castiel’s relationships are closer to normal.

Why the hell is Castiel even thinking about this? Castiel shakes his head, getting the weird thoughts out of there. The motion gets Dean’s attention, and he looks over at Castiel again. And then, Castiel realises that he’s been staring at Dean for the whole duration of his spacing out.

Back to step one in keeping Dean from thinking that there’s something fucked up with Castiel: do not stare at the Dean for more than a minute at a time.

“Bored?” Dean grins at Castiel. Castiel only notices the grin because something in the movie blows up and the light reflects onto Dean’s face. It’s beautiful; Castiel memorises it and stores that expression, with that lighting, in the _things to draw involving one Dean Winchester_ file in his head. It’s not a real folder, of course, because having real folders in one’s head would be weird, even for the Castiel Milton-Gabe Speight type.

“Cas, the man said something. To you. Stop counting his freckles and answer him.” Gabe says and flicks a sour patch kid at Castiel’s forehead. Castiel’s not sure where Gabe got the candy, but this _is_ Gabe. He probably has a stash of sweets somewhere in Castiel’s apartment and Castiel just hasn’t found it yet.

“Cas counts Dean’s freckles?” Sam asks, and Castiel gets the feeling that he’s about to lose a fan. He’s somewhat okay with that, seeing as less fans means less chance that he’ll get recognised and called out in public. He’s also somewhat not okay with that, because Sam is Gabe’s boyfriend, and also the brother of the guy that Castiel has a crush on. Castiel would rather keep Sam. Sam hasn’t done anything wrong.

“Duh. How else would he know how many to put on Dean’s face in his sketches of the man?” Gabe grins. Castiel wants to hide, now. Whatever is coming next is going to be embarrassing, because while Gabe does want Dean and Castiel to get together, and while Gabe is also the protective (occasionally) big brother that Castiel never got because he’s the oldest in his family, Gabe is also kind of a dick. He wouldn’t give up a chance to embarrass the living hell out of Castiel.

Gabe throws his arm over Sam’s shoulders and taps Dean’s shoulder. “Has Cas ever showed you his sketch books? I think you’d like his stuff. It’s pretty cool.”

“No… I haven’t seen any sketch books, only the stuff at the show.” Dean turns his head away from Castiel when he answers Gabe’s question. “Cas did draw something for me, though. I don’t have it with me… but it’s really good. Especially since he drew it with a sharpie.”

“Wait, are you talking about the receipt thing you showed me and Charlie?” Sam raises his eyebrows, and behind Dean, Castiel flushes. Apparently Dean liked the sketch enough to share it with his brother and his friend, when his brother was already a fan of Castiel’s work. Castiel shifts in his seat and pulls down on the sleeves of his trench coat. These compliments are unnecessary.

“Yeah, that one.” Dean nods. Gabe’s still watching for Castiel’s reactions, and no one is watching the movie. Gabe leans across the two brothers and pokes Castiel’s knee. “Cas, stop being embarrassed. It’s not like Dean’s seen the other sketches.”

“Other sketches?” Dean’s voice wavers as he looks back over his shoulder at Castiel, right as Castiel looks up at Dean. They’ve developed a habit of doing that: looking at the other right at the other looks back. Of course, Castiel is almost always staring at Dean. Dean swallows, looking like he’s not sure if he wants to know the answer to his next question. “What kind of other sketches?”

“N-not… nothing w-w-weird… justyou. A… l-lot…” Castiel murmurs the last four words into his chest, head lowered again. He does, however, look up immediately after he finishes speaking. Castiel wants to meet Dean’s gaze, and he wants to have real conversations with the man he is slowly falling for and he wants to learn how to deal with society so that Dean won’t want to leave him, and so that Dean will want to be friends, and maybe, hopefully, something more with Castiel.

“Oh, okay, good.” Dean seems to relax. Castiel isn’t quite sure what Gabe and Dean mean by the other sketches. Well, he knew what Gabe means: Gabe means the two over-flowing sketch books in Castiel’s room that contain only pictures of Dean. However, based on Dean’s reaction and Gabe’s _I’m about to royally screw up your life, dickbag_ face, Castiel knows that Gabe is implying something different. Either that, or Castiel just totally misread the situation, seeing as Gabe usually has that expression on his face.

“So, Cas, are you planning on putting on a show, of are you going to just sit there and continue to count the freckles on Dean’s face?” Gabe says and puts his legs up on top of Sam’s, casually invading everyone else’s space on the couch as though he owns it. He doesn’t. Castiel does. Castiel would also appreciate it if Gabe would drop the whole freckles thing. Gabe won’t, and Castiel knows that, and so Castiel doesn’t even bring it up.

“I… yeah.” Instead, Castiel stands up and nearly trips his way into his room, swearing under his breath as his shoulder collides with the door frame. He has a tendency to lose his sense of balance when under the spotlight. Once Castiel has safely secured himself in the isolation of his bedroom, certain that no one from outside can see him, he falls back onto his bed with the carelessness of a child, his trench coat flying out beneath him. Castiel sits up after a few moments, curls his legs under himself, and breaths. _Calm, Castiel, get calm. Dean’s just a person, you can handle this. No… no, I can’t. Shit… I am not meant for socialising… but I really, really like Dean… more than the fact that his face is pretty._ Castiel opens his eyes and slides off the bed; he goes over to his boxes and pulls out the Dean-centric sketch books. Castiel runs his fingers over the contours of Dean’s face. _What if he thinks I’m weird… well, even more weird than he already suspects I am… because I’ve drawn him so many times? What if Gabe says something about my crush on Dean?_ And then, of course, the most nerve-wracking, courage-destroying thought enters into Castiel’s mind. _What if Dean doesn’t even like me? What if this is all a charade because he thinks I’m a pitiful lump of fail?_

Castiel sits on the floor of his darkened room, clutching the two notebooks he’s filled with Dean. He’s afraid to go back out. He’s afraid to face Dean, because he is just now realising how copious sketches of an acquaintance (friend? Castiel isn’t sure if he and Dean are at the level of friends yet) might come across as a lot obsessive and a little creepy.

Gabe sticks his head into Castiel’s room, his gold eyes flashing with annoyance. “Seriously Cas? Are you actually trying to skip out on something going on in _your own house_?! Really?”

“I… I can’t.” Castiel clutches the sketch books closer, trying to curl into himself and the trench coat. Gabe rolls his eyes and stalks into the room. He grabs Castiel by the lapel of his trench coat and drags Castiel out of his room. “Come out, you asshat. Show and tell time.”

“Gabe…” Castiel hisses. He doesn’t want to do this, not yet, maybe not ever. Dean and Sam are watching the two of them, not quite sure what to make of the two artists in the hallway, glaring daggers at each other. Gabe throws Castiel forward, letting go of the trench coat so it doesn’t rip. Castiel doesn’t trip this time, luckily, but Castiel is still in the center of the room, and there are still three sets of eyes on him. One a shade of green that shouldn’t be legal because it’s such a pure green, one a shade of green that belongs in the nature, wild and calm and swirling with a bit of brown, and one that’s the colour of molten topaz.

Talking with only one set of eyes on him is hard enough. Three people is nearly impossible, and so, in the end, Castiel just gives up and shoves the sketch books into Dean’s arms before escaping to the kitchen to get… something. He doesn’t know what. He just knows that the kitchen is empty.

Castiel waits in the kitchen, staring at the wall with his hands shoved deep into his pockets and his thoughts raging inside of his head, out of his control. The artist doesn’t notice Dean appear next to him until there’s a hand on his shoulder. The hand reminds Castiel of the alternative situation his mind made up where Castiel had screwed everything up and Dean had left, never to return again. Castiel breaths and thinks through how to stay calm before he turns to face Dean. Dean removes his hand from Castiel’s shoulder. Castiel takes another breath. “D-did you… f-f-finish…?”

“You draw me a lot.” Dean says. That’s his only comment on the matter. There’s no weird looks, no _what the hell is wrong with you, you creep?_ exclamations, and so Castiel takes that as a good sign.

Castiel nods. “Yes… I… draw y-you a-a… lot… I’d… like to b-be… I want… you’re interesting… a-and… I… want t-t-to… to know you… and… I… I… want to be y-your friend…”

Castiel tenses again, and waits for the rejection, the negative reaction, but he gets neither. Instead, Dean lets out a single laugh and tells Castiel that he thought that they were already friends. Castiel can’t help but smile back at Dean, because this is a step forward. It’s an uneasy step forward, and Castiel still feels like he’s about to fall, but it still counts as moving forward. And it’s about time that Castiel started moving forward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry about the wait. there will be another wait soon, since nanowrimo is coming up and i'm actually doing it this year. (my name on nano is renegade angels as well, in case anyone cares to follow me)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologise for not updating this since forever, but college applications happened and I kind of forgot about my non-NaNo writings for a while.
> 
> I'm back now, and I'll do my best to update once every other Thursday (occasionally on Fridays because school is a thing).

The next time that Dean called Castiel, Castiel was at an art studio, sitting in the back corner and sketching out a model who was lying across a blue and lavender sofa, wearing flowing silver robes. Castiel didn’t have his phone with him that time (in all honesty, Castiel hardly ever remembered to bring his phone anywhere because he never really left his apartment and even when he did, he didn’t expect anyone to call him), and he didn’t bother to check his messages when he got back from the studio. He didn’t think that there was a reason to do so.

The time after that, Castiel was out getting some more bread, seeing as he had one slice left, and it was har to make a sandwich with only one slice of bread. Possible, but it would be a very odd sandwich and Castiel liked his sandwiches normal, thank you. He had his phone with him that time, and he answered it nervously, not sure who was on the other end (he had added Dean’s number, but had forgotten to give the contact a name; he wasn’t an expert of technology, not by anyone’s standards). “H-hello…? I’m… this i-is C-Castiel…?”

“Your full name’s Castiel?” Dean’s voice replied back. Castiel, in the middle of the isle, staring at the bread like it was going to slaughter him in his sleep, flushed and nodded. He then realised that Dean couldn’t see him over the phone, and that replying in words would be necessary.

Castiel swallowed. “Y-yes. My p-parents named me… and my s-s-sister… after… after angels. H-her name is… Anael. But sh-she goes… by Anna. I go by C-Cas. Or… Castiel.”

Castiel wanted to hit himself for being so awkward. Dean probably didn’t even care about his name history. He should have just said yes and then stopped talking. He’d have thought that twelve years around Gabe would have taught him _something_ about how to act around a person he was interested in (Gabe had been interested in many different people over the time period Castiel knew him, and many of Gabe’s interests eventually became interested in Gabe as well), but apparently Castiel was as bad at this whole thing as he had predicted he would be.

“Oh. Okay. You doing anything right now?” Luckily for Castiel, Dean seemed to have a high tolerance for the awkward.

“I’m c-currently deciding…” Castiel stopped himself before he went into another long, rambling, stuttering monologue about his bread choices. Dean wouldn’t care about what kind of bread Castiel was buying. Castiel grabbed the bread in front of him; he just realised that he really didn’t care what kind of bread he bought either. “I’m… I’m not doing m-much… Dean.”

Castiel didn’t want Dean to think that he sat around doing nothing. Or at least that’s what Castiel has learned from some of Gabe’s past dates. Gabe and Castiel could have been lounging around in Gabe’s apartment, getting nothing done even though both of them had deadlines looming over their heads, but Gabe would never tell his date that. He’d always make-up something, usually something photography related, and motion for Castiel to leave, so that Castiel wouldn’t end up playing the role of the third wheel.

Castiel doesn’t understand what’s so bad about being the third wheel. The third wheel adds stability. Stability is good.

Dean was talking again. “Okay, cool. Mind if I crash at your place for a few hours? Sam and your roommate are making eyes at each other… again… and I really don’t want to be around for my brother… doing _that_.”

Castiel wasn’t sure what _that_ was, nor did he know how two people could _make eyes at each other_ , but he did know that Dean wanted to come over, and so Castiel nodded again, before realising, _again_ , that nods don’t work over the phone. He swallowed and replied. “Yes. You… can c-come over. And… um, Dean?”

“Yeah, Cas?”

“G-Gabriel… isn’t m-my roommate…” Castiel muttered, hoping that Dean heard him so that he wouldn’t have to repeat himself. He didn’t know why he told Dean that in the first place. Maybe he told Dean so that Dean wouldn’t try to think of Gabe and Castiel as anything other than a pair of weird friends (people have actually asked if the two of them were dating; one woman thought they were married, which was uncomfortable for Castiel but hilarious for Gabe). Castiel wants Dean to like him, and to think of Castiel as only Castiel, not Castiel with a side of Gabe.

“Oh. Sorry.” Dean said, sounding like he had accidentally offended Castiel or something. Castiel was about to tell him that it was okay, and that people do that all the time, but then Dean continued. “I’ll be over there in… twenty-ish minutes. You good with that, Cas?”

“I’m… good with… th-that. Dean.” Castiel said, testing out the new phrase. He told Dean goodbye, and that he was going to hang up now. Castiel took his bread to the front of the store, bought it, and headed for the door. His mind wasn’t really there; he was trying to figure out whether or not he would be able to get back to his apartment before Dean. He could, if he used the subway system, but Castiel hated the subway. There were too many people, and they were too loud and demanding. They would look at Castiel with cold glares, as though he was doing something wrong simply by being there, or they would sit down next to him and blare their grating music over their earbuds and their smell would gravitate towards Castiel. They always seemed to smell sweaty and smoky and just _generically bad person smell_. Castiel would rather just walk or get a taxi cab, but walking would take too long, and taxis had a tendency to ignore Castiel completely.

That meant that if he wanted to get back to his apartment before his guest (Dean was his guest, right?) did, then Castiel had to give in and just ride the subway.

Castiel shivered and walked out into a downpour. He shoved the bag of bread under his trench coat and made his way to the nearest subway entrance. By the time he had gotten underground, he was drenched, his dark hair slicked down onto his face. He moved through the crowd, getting bumped around by practically everyone in the small area, and made his way to the platform. Castiel pressed himself against a wall and tried to keep his eye on the floor. People didn’t like it when Castiel stared at them, but Castiel couldn’t help staring; he stared at people because he found the different contours of their faces to be very interesting.

The train pulled in and Castiel got on quickly. He sat down on a seat in the back corner, gripping his bag of bread and praying that the train would get him home as fast as humanly (or trainly, depending) possible. He also prayed that whoever sat down next to him didn’t smell, didn’t listen to annoying music, and wasn’t talkative. That part of the prayer was ignored. A woman with curly blonde hair that had obviously been dyed recently sat down next to Castiel, letting out a noise between a grunt and a sigh. She leaned her head back onto the seat. Her head stayed facing upward, but her eyes flicked over to Castiel. She smirked. “Hey. You’re wet.”

Castiel nodded and stared down at his hands. He really hoped that this woman would stop talking to him. He had nothing against her personally, but she was a human, and Castiel didn’t do well with humans. She didn’t seem to get the message and continued. “Are you mute or just shy?”

“I… “Castiel started, but he didn’t really know where he was planning on going with the conversation. He didn’t even think he can _have_ a conversation. Not with a stranger. Not with so many other people around them, watching, possibly listening, and probably judging. Castiel looked away again. The woman beside him laughed, because apparently watching Castiel squirm was funny to her. She adjusted ho she was sitting, and crossed her legs. “Lemme guess… you’re some kind of artistic hermit, hidden away in your little hobbit hole. Am I right?”

Castiel looked at her, and saw that she was smirking at him in a way that seemed far too predatory for his liking. He swallowed and moved away from her, towards the window. He nodded. “I… y-yes.”

“Cute.” She nodded back to him. She uncrossed her legs and stretched them out, ignoring people’s protests. “Well, Mr. Art Hobbit, my name’s Meg and I make coffee for assholes. And other art hobbits, like you.”

Castiel wished he had Gabe, or Dean, or someone, here with him so that he wouldn’t have to deal with Meg on his own. He didn’t have any responses, and she just kept talking. She seemed to feed off of his uncomfortableness, and that bothered Castiel. He wished he wasn’t so uncomfortable around new people, and that he could carry out conversations with random strangers, but he couldn’t, and so he was here, stuck with a Meg who enjoyed making people uncomfortable.

Meg narrowed her eyes at Castiel. “Do you have a boyfriend? Because you look like the cute gay artist type.”

“Wh-what? I… n-n-no. No.” Castiel stuttered out, knowing that his face was going red as he spoke. He didn’t have a boyfriend, only a crush on a guy. A Dean guy. A guy named Dean. Castiel really wished Meg would shut up or go bother someone else. She didn’t. Of course.  She laughed, again, at Castiel. “You’re adorable.”

Castiel didn’t reply to that, because he didn’t want to, and also because his stop was the next one. When the train stopped, Castiel fled from his seat and was off the subway and back onto the streets of New York before he had even registered he was out. He continued running through the crowds, head down, holding onto the bread like it was the only thing important to him, and didn’t stop until he reached the back entrance of his apartment. He fumbled for his keys, found them, and went up to his apartment. He didn’t want to think about Meg, or how a complete stranger had been able to figure out that he was interested in another guy. It wasn’t the whole gay thing that had set Castiel off; it was the fact that his crush was apparently that obvious. He wondered if Dean had noticed.

Castiel got to his apartment before Dean, luckily, because he needed some time to calm down, and leaned against his front door, trying his best to remember to breath. He ran his hands through his hair, sticking it up in odd angles. He let out a shuddered breath and closed his eyes. “I’m not subtle.”

Dean knocked on the door and Castiel leaped away from the door and let out a sound akin to a frustrated pterodactyl, then flushed red and mentally smacked himself. Castiel ran his hand through his hair again and approached the door, hoping that he didn’t look as flustered as he thought, and opened the door to reveal Dean. Dean stood in the doorway, looking tired and wet, but still ridiculously attractive. There was a droplet of water stuck in his eyelashes. Castiel was staring again. Dean rubbed his hair, flecks of water flying everywhere. “Hey, sorry about being abrupt about this whole thing… were you out doing something?”

Castiel blinked a few times. The drop of water on Dean’s eyelashes fell off, and a drop of water ran off of Castiel’s hair and down his nose. “Wh-what?”

“You’re soaked.” Dean motioned to Castiel, who looked down at his clothes, which had been turned darker by the rain. Castiel turned the bread in his hands, and looked over his shoulder, into the darkened apartment. There are papers and sketchpads all over the couch; Castiel hasn’t cleaned up in a while. He turned back to Dean. “Y-yes. I am… I am… soaked. B-Because I was… g-getting… getting bread. For… sandwiches… and… things.”

“Okay.” Dean realised that Castiel didn’t know it was common custom to verbally invite someone inside, and so he stepped in and moved past Castiel. He shrugged off his wet over-shirt and shook it out before he hung it on one of the empty pegs by the door. Dean turned back to Castiel, who was still staring at him, not quite sure what Dean was doing.

“So, any plans, or do you wanna just trust me?” Dean asked, shaking Castiel out of his thoughts again. Castiel glanced down at the bread he was still holding. He held it up, head tilted. “S-sandwiches…?”

Dean took the bread from Castiel and walked past the artist. He set the bread down on the counter and leaned against it, folding his arms over his chest. “You’re weird, Cas. But I like you.”

“Oh.” Castiel stepped towards Dean, then stepped back, not sure what he was supposed to do in response to Dean’s comment. He scratched his fingernails on the wall beside him and averts his eyes from Dean’s. He can’t figure that man out, not that Castiel’s ever been able to understand other people, but he had thought that Dean would be different. He had thought that Dean would be easier to understand, simply because Castiel liked Dean.

Of course, Castiel was wrong. Having a crush on someone only makes them harder to understand; being ridiculously introverted and having a crush on a person makes it hard to get to know, and therefore understand, anyone. In other words, Castiel was going to have a very hard time figuring Dean out and figuring out if Dean even liked Castiel in the same way that Castiel liked Dean.

“So, Cas, you ever been to a laser-tag place?” Dean asked. Castiel shook his head; he’d never even heard of laser-tag, whatever that was. But he trusts Dean, so when the taller man said that he was going to fix that and show Castiel how to have a good time without involving alcohol, Castiel followed Dean out of the apartment and down to the car garage under the apartment building. Castiel tilted his head, confused as to how Dean had managed to get his car into the private parking area for tenants only. Dean glanced over his shoulder and grinned at Castiel’s confused expression. “Don’t worry, I didn’t have to break into anything to get into here… cute girl you’ve got working the entrance, by the way.”

Castiel didn’t understand how the girl’s cuteness had anything to do with anything Dean had just said, but he did have a sudden urge to rip the girl’s hair out or something to make her un-cute. _Is un-cute even a word?_ Castiel thought as Dean showed the artist his car, a ’67 Impala that Dean referred to as his baby. Unlike the girl, Castiel had no bitter feelings towards Dean’s baby. In fact, Castiel wanted to draw Dean with his car. It seemed appropriate.

Castiel slid into the passenger seat, and as Dean started the engine, loud rock music blared out at the two of them. Castiel jumps in his seat; it’s better than the crap he’s heard on the subway, but that was completely unexpected. Dean laughed, nice laughter that Castiel appreciated. Not like Meg’s. “It won’t eat you. Zeppelin’s nice.”

“The m-music has a… p-personality?” Castiel tilted his head again. Dean nodded. “Of course it does. You have heard of Zeppelin before, right?”

“No… I don’t… listen t-to… to music.” Castiel stared down at his hands, which were lacking any streaks of colour. Castiel supposed the rain had washed it all off.

“I’m fixing that too.” Dean turned the volume up further as he drove them through the city, the rain beating down around them. “You are one deprived man, Cas. What do you even do all day, besides the essentials? And, for you, the essentials include the whole drawing thing.”

“Um… D-Doctor Who?” Castiel has begun to realise how impressively not interesting at all his life is. Not that Gabe hadn’t pointed that out to Castiel on multiple occasions, but Gabe hadn’t done anything other than comment on Castiel’s anti-social tendencies. That, and Castiel had never had a reason to really try to impress Gabe. Gabe was a friend, Dean was an interest, and Castiel had a reason to be interesting now. Unfortunately, having a reason to be interesting didn’t suddenly turn Castiel into some super-intricate and mysterious artist guy.

“Sam likes that. I think.” Dean swerved around a jay-walker and glared at the guy, who (apparently decided to be mature about the whole incident) flicked Dean off in response. Dean ignored the jay-walker. “You _are_ talking about the British show where there’s a guy in a bowtie who runs around with a ginger and a blue box slash spaceship thing, right?”

“… yes…” Castiel had never heard anyone describe Doctor Who, or at least the most recent regeneration of the Doctor, like that. Castiel wondered if the random extras on the show who witnessed the Doctor ever thought of him (and Amy, Dean had thrown Amy in there too) like that. _I come up with the weirdest questions._ Castiel thought. _I need to pay attention to Dean now, and stop thinking about extras on Doctor Who._ Castiel looked back at Dean, then past the man, to outside the car. Castiel had no idea where he was; he had never traveled this far away from his apartment, and he finds this new portion of the city to be interesting. The streets were more crowded, the people were darker and more huddled under their jackets and umbrellas. The people matched the rain, and Castiel wished that he had thought to bring his sketch book with him.

“Cool. I don’t watch it… I mean, I’ve seen a few episodes because I was bored and both Sam and Charlie watch it…” Castiel remembered Charlie, Dean’s friend from the bar that Castiel had never actually met but had only texted with momentarily. Dean stopped talking suddenly, his jaw clenched, his grip tightened on the steering wheel. The moment died out as quickly as it started, but Dean still remained quiet. Castiel tilted his head, not sure what was keeping Dean from continuing.

“Dean…?” Castiel asked, not sure what type of response he would get, but he hoped that whatever response Dean gave him would explain Dean a little bit more. Because, for Castiel at least, Dean needed to be explained constantly.

“Cas, it’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.” Dean said, and shrugged. Castiel nodded, but he was still curious, and he didn’t think that it was really nothing. Dean pulled into an open parking spot in front of a building that looked too business-y to be anything close to what Castiel thought Dean’s laser-tag would look like. Castiel leaned around Dean. “This is… l-laser-tag?”

“Nope, this is some business thing. Laser tag is two blocks down, but this is about as close as we’ll get. Welcome to New York.” Dean said, smirking, as he got out of the car. The rain poured down on him. Castiel got out as well and moved around the car so that he would be next to Dean, and waited for the bartender to lead him to this mysterious laser-tag thing. Dean closed the car door and led Castiel down the street. He and Castiel walked in silence, but it was not an awkward silence. It was the silence shared between two friends who know that talking isn’t always necessary, because neither one had to worry about the other one leaving them behind if they weren’t interesting enough.

As Dean and Cas entered the laser-tag building, a techno song was playing over the intercom, and there were two tweens playing air-hockey while some other kids ran around the main area, waiting for the next game to start up. Dean grabbed Castiel’s arm and dragged him up to a stand where a bored looking woman smacking gum was tapping things into an old computer. She looked up with an eyebrow raised. “Two games, Mr. Winchester?”

“Yep.” Dean grinned and handed her a wad of cash that he had just pulled from his wallet. The lady popped her gum and opened the cash box, flicking the bills out and into their respective slots. She then handed Dean four plastic cards: two blue ones and two red ones. Dean and Castiel moved to the next counter. Dean handed Castiel one of the blue cards and told him to tell the guy what he wanted his codename to be. Castiel wasn’t sure why he couldn’t just use his own name, but he knew that Dean had done this before, so whatever Dean said was proper protocol was probably proper protocol.

“What do you want your name to be?” The kid behind the counter asked. He looked bored, leaned on his palm with his cheek squished into his face.

“I’m Batman.” Dean grinned at the teen behind the counter. The teen sighed, probably thinking that Dean was a giant five-year-old (he was, at points), and tapped in the name. He then handed Dean a blue stick-thing and turned to Castiel, who was next in line behind Dean. Castiel wasn’t quite sure what to say, because his own nickname, Cas, obviously wasn’t going to be sufficient enough for this game. Dean proved that by naming himself after a superhero.

“And you?” The teen asked lazily.

“Um… t-the… the Doctor…?” It was the first fictional character that came to Castiel’s mind, probably because he and Dean had been talking about the show recently.

The teen typed in the name and handed Castiel a blue stick-thing that was a few shades lighter than the one Dean got. Castiel moved away from the counter and took in the castle and knight theme of the laser tag place as he made his way over to Dean.

“Sam and I come here whenever we’ve both got time off. Charlie was the one who introduced me to this thing… I come here with her too, but mostly it’s Sam and me.” Dean said, rambling, and he leaned back against an arcade game, the blue stick-thing poking out of his back pocket. “It’s not as geeky as it seems; running around shooting at kids with lasers is actually really awesome… if you’re not too much of a whiny bitch when I kick your ass.”

Dean grinned and pointed to a small screen beside the entry door. The screen was blinking red, showing the top ten scores from the games. Dean’s grin washed off when he read the top name. “Damn… when did Sam come here and beat me? I bet it was with Charlie…”

“Sam’s name… i-is… _Moose_?” Castiel asked, head tilted to the left. The name _Moose_ was above the name _Batman_ on the score screen. Dean nodded. “Yeah… uh, the whole moose thing was a joke, but Sam stuck with it because of some absurd idea that the name _Moose_ gave him a better score… apparently he was right.”

The doors opened and another teen came out, followed by twenty other people, most of them between the ages of nine and thirteen. Some of the kids moved back to the door that read _Airlock_ in a large, scripted font. The teen that had led the kids out stood up on the bench and turned on his microphone, tapping it once to make sure that it was really working. He coughed before speaking. “Any one holding a blue stick, please make your way over to the Airlock now. The next game is going to start soon.”

Castiel followed Dean into the Airlock room. The two of them were immediately swamped by a crowd of teenagers and older kids. Dean pulled Castiel into the back corner before he leaned against the wall. His green eyes, which were glowing eerily in the black lights, scanned the other players. Dean nodded, satisfied. “Cas… this is gonna be fun. Just, stick close to me this time, so you don’t get ganked by a bunch of twelve-year-olds.”

Castiel wasn’t sure what Dean meant when he said _ganked_ , but he moved closer to Dean anyway. The word _gank_ didn’t sound appealing, in context or not. Dean shook his head at Castiel and said, “not _that_ close, Cas” and so Castiel stepped back to where he had been standing before. He wanted his trench coat, but Dean had said that it would glow in the black light and make Castiel look like a giant beacon of light, and that he should just stay in his long-sleeved t-shirt and jeans, sans trench coat. Castiel also wanted to be closer to Dean, because that made him comfortable, kind of like the trench coat.

The teen who told them to get into the Airlock came in as well and explained how the game worked. Castiel tried to pay attention, but there were too many new faces, and the black lights in the small, stuffy room, and the black lights made everyone in the room look different. Their eyes and their teeth glowed and Castiel found it fascinating.

“Okay, Cas, let’s go.” Dean pulled Castiel into the next room, where there were blinking vests lining the walls. They flashed red and green, all of them in synch with the others. Dean grabbed one and handed another to Castiel. Castiel put his vest on and pulled out the gun attached to the vest, pressing his blue stick-thing to it until the gun beeped, saying that Castiel was registered. Castiel’s eyes widened; he hadn’t been expecting that.

Dean leaned over Castiel’s shoulder. “The Doctor? Nice.”

“Um… thanks?” Castiel felt like Dean was being sarcastic, but Castiel couldn’t really tell because Castiel was horrible at detecting sarcasm in other people. It just wasn’t his thing.

As the door to the shooting area (Castiel didn’t know what else to call it) slid open, Castiel started to move forward with the rest of the crowd, but Dean grabbed hold of his arm and held him back, telling Castiel to stick to the back of the crowd, because if they stay back long enough, then the countdown to shooting will have finished by the time Castiel and Dean have entered, and the two of them will be able to shoot at people immediately. Castiel nodded to Dean, acknowledging that he understood the theory, and so the two of them stayed in the back, letting everyone else in before they dropped their blue stick-things into a bucket by the door. They launched into the smoky room, laser guns ready to fire. Well, Dean looked prepared; he was grinning with his finger on the trigger while Castiel was standing behind him, looking around the darkened, unfamiliar room and trying to see people.

“Cas, on your left.” Dean hissed, and Castiel turned around, shooting at a person. The person shot back, but Castiel managed to hit him first, and so he left. Castiel, once he was sure that no one else was going to come at them for the moment, turned to Dean. “That’s it?”

“No, Cas, that’s just the beginning.”Dean led Castiel through the maze of towers and mirrors, the two of them shooting at anything that moved. Castiel found the whole event confusing, but also rather exciting; he’d never done something that caused so much adrenaline without making him want to go away and curl into himself, away from the event. Castiel stayed with Dean, knowing that he would get shot a lot more if Dean didn’t have his back. Lasers started shooting at them from above as they made their way towards a tower, and Dean swore (even though the teen that explained the game said that swearing wasn’t allowed, but Castiel didn’t think that Dean really cared much about that rule), and pointed his gun upward, shooting into the tower above. Castiel started shooting upwards as well as Dean led the two of them under the tower that the lasers were coming from. Dean stood under one of the grates, his green eyes searching out any possible targets. He found one and started shooting. When the lights on the kid’s vest went out, the kid let out a “hey!” and more kids swarmed over the grate. Castiel joined Dean then, the two of them firing upward at a group of six kids. Castiel tried to angle himself so that he could get to the ones that were out of Dean’s range, and cover his friend. There was a short break in the action when both Dean and Castiel had been shot at the same time, and Dean took those few seconds to turn to Castiel and ask, “Wanna storm the castle with me?”

“Yes. Let’s go.” Castiel breathed out, and nodded. He was enjoying this, despite the fact that his finger was burning from pulling the trigger repeatedly. Dean took the lead again, firing a few shots up the grate to try and convince the kids that they were staying. The two men ran up the ramp, into the tower, (Dean ran backwards so that neither he nor Castiel would have an exposed back) and into a crowd of seven teenagers. Dean grinned, his face glowing eerily in the lighting, and he and Castiel charged in, shooting at anything that shot at them. Castiel found himself separated from Dean, but he couldn’t bother himself to panic, because he had three laser guns pointed at his chest, and he somehow managed to get hit only a few times, comparatively. For his first time ever doing something like this, Castiel felt like he was doing a pretty good job at not sucking.

He shot down another teenager and ran past them, completely unaware of where he was. He had to get back to Dean, though, because he and Dean were working together, and Castiel didn’t want to lose Dean. He found Dean after he got shot from behind by one of the kids, but his “power” came back on in time for him to attack the two kids that came after Dean from an angle out of Dean’s point of view. Castiel moved out of the way from some firing lasers just as Dean stepped back into the same corner to safely shoot at the others, and the two ran into each other. Castiel knew it was Dean, but Dean didn’t know it was Castiel, and so he shot Castiel, hitting one of the glowing targets on Castiel’s gun. Dean realised who he shot and apologised in a way that was clearly Dean. “Shit, Cas! Don’t do that!”

“Sorry.” Castiel said, standing up and continuing to shoot at the teenagers, who were still trying to win their tower back. Dean shrugged. “No big deal.”

After a few more minutes of shooting, the guns shut off and all of them beeped in synchrony as though they were one collective bomb waiting to go off. Dean told Castiel that the game was over, and led him back out and into the room where they first got their vests. They placed their vests on the hangers and exited through a second door. Castiel was still over-heated from the stuffiness of the building, so he retreated to the edge of another arcade game. Dean came over to stand next to the artist, a grin on his face again. “Now you’ve lived. How does it feel?”

“… tiring.” Castiel wasn’t out of shape; he was just one of those people who never left the comfort of their home unless absolutely necessary. This whole laser-tag thing, however, Castiel could deal with it. Especially if it meant that he would get to be around Dean more.

“You’ll get used to it.” Dean’s focus was taken away from Castiel as the teen that had been instructing them earlier got up on a bench across from where Castiel and Dean were standing. He was holding a bunch of red and white papers and was once again adjusting his microphone. The other players started to gather around below him, and Dean nudged Castiel. “He’s gonna call out the scores. Pay attention.”

“Okay…” Castiel glanced at the teen; he wasn’t that interesting to look at, save for his crooked nose. He wasn’t as interesting to look at as Dean, and so after Castiel gave the teen a final glance to make sure he had gotten all of his features right in his head, Castiel returned his blue gaze to his companion.

“In third place, _BeastMode_.” The teen said, and pulled off the top piece of paper. He glanced around the crowd as a chubby kid in an orange and grey striped shirt came forward and reached up for the paper. The kid grabbed his paper and grinned down at what Castiel supposed was a new high score or something.

“And in second place, _Frappuchino_.” A teenage girl with long brown hair and bangs that fell into her eyes took the next card. She shrugged at her score, unimpressed, and returned to her group of friends.

“And the winner is… _Batman_.” The teen didn’t seem surprised or impressed that Dean had won; obviously the Winchester brothers had made a name for themselves here at this laser tag place. Dean went up and retrieved his card, returning to Castiel with a triumphant grin on his face.

“You’re acting l-like a… a k-kid…” Castiel said, and looked away from Dean. But then he looked back, because he thought that Dean would think that Castiel had been embarrassed by Dean’s antics, even though Castiel was not. Castiel wasn’t embarrassed by Dean. He was just awkward. Awkward and bad at social interaction and not good at dealing with large groups of people in a social context.

“Acting like a kid is fun.” Dean shrugged. “Well, it’s more fun than being an adult with a stick up your ass, at least.”

“Agreed.” Castiel nodded. He could see why Dean chose the freer version of life where there was no real growing up. It was easier. Castiel was about to get into his thoughts when the teen called out his name, and Castiel froze. He didn’t want to get his score, because if he did, then people would stare at him, and judge him. Castiel didn’t judge people when he stared at them, because he looked at them through an artistic viewpoint. He only looked a people to get to know their faces, so that he could use them as a subject later, but he also knew that not everyone was like that. Most people judged others when they stared, most people weren’t artists, most people don’t work the same way Castiel does. _If they did,_ Castiel thought, _the world would be a very awkward place. It would also die off rather quickly, seeing as all of the Castiels would be too awkward to mate and reproduce with each other._

“Cas. Go get your thing.” Dean said, and Castiel gave Dean a look that should have meant, _Dean you assbutt don’t make me go up and face humanity on my own_ , but really looked like, _Dean I’m really bad at people and I’m going to die, send help_. Dean was unimpressed. He folded his arms over his chest and narrowed his eyes, looking very serious about the whole ordeal. “Don’t make me push you.”

Castiel walked forward when Dean said that, deciding that he didn’t want to be pushed. He kept his head down and he didn’t acknowledge the teenager when the teenager handed him his card. No one else did, and Castiel decided that he was going to keep it that way. Castiel returned back to Dean and managed to glare at his crush. “Th-there. Happy?”

“What’s your score?” Dean leaned over Castiel’s shoulder and Castiel’s face turned a deep red because of the proximity. Dean’s eyes scanned across the card and he nodded, accepting Castiel’s score. “Not bad for your first time. Wanna go again?”

Castiel turned to face Dean at the same time that Dean turned to face Castiel, and their eyes widened as they realised just how close they are. Castiel froze, staring straight into Dean’s eyes, noticing every single shade and fleck of green. He never really got the time to notice just how ridiculously green and detailed Dean’s eyes were; from this close up, Castiel can see the tiny dark green lines running out from Dean’s pupils, which were flickering slightly as they tried to keep up with the light. Castiel could also see each individual eyelash, all thick and dark brown-black, the ends curled up. Castiel blinked, finally. “Wow.”

“Uh… Cas? Personal space; I need some.” Dean said, leaning away from Castiel. “Preferably now…”

“Oh… I… I… s-s-sorry…” Castiel stepped back and tore his gaze from Dean, suddenly finding himself obsessed with his paint-splattered blue converse. Actually, his converse weren’t interesting at all; Castiel would have much rather been staring at Dean (that made Castiel sound like a complete creeper, even though he wasn’t, or at least he didn’t think so). But staring at Dean wasn’t the best idea at that moment, because of the whole personal space thing.

“Jesus, Castiel, did you grow up in a vacuum or something? Because you’re kinda clueless.” Dean laughed, and Castiel looked up. Dean shifted his stance and leaned back against the arcade game. “Not in a _bad_ way, though. I mean… I had fun, Cas.”

Castiel nodded, because he was sort of startled by Dean’s response and he thought that if he tried to say something, he would ruin the compliment. So he let Dean continue talking; Dean’s voice was nice to listen to, anyway.

“You _are_ having fun, right? You’re not terrified by all of these people or anything?” Dean didn’t want Castiel to be uncomfortable, which made Castiel smile a little, because there weren’t many people in the world who cared enough about Castiel to consider how comfortable (or not) he was in certain social situations.

“Yes.” Castiel nodded. “I… I’m enjoying… th-this.”

“Good, because they’re calling up red cards to enter in, and we’ve got red cards, so let’s go.” Dean said, and then grabbed Castiel by the arm again and dragged him back over to the station where they got the stick-things and gave their nicknames. As he was being dragged over, Castiel decided that, around the right people, society could actually be an experience that won’t scar Castiel for the rest of his life and make him want to run back to his apartment and board up the doors. He also decided, as Dean told the teen working the station that he was going to be Batman again, that Dean was definitely the right kind of company for dealing with society.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes, hello, I am back. And since I am now done with school (whoot), I will be able to update on a somewhat regular basis. 
> 
> Though, if you know me, then you know that that means I will probably update twice and then dissappear again. Sorry. I'm bad at this. 
> 
> (though I do have four other stories going on in the background, if you want to check them out maybe?)

Sam and Dean’s apartment isn’t cramped, but Gabriel can’t understand how two people as ridiculously tall as the Winchesters can live in such a small area.

 

Sam literally takes over the whole couch if he lays down on it. The couch is where the younger Winchester is currently sprawled out, laying on his stomach, propped up on his elbows so that he can type on his laptop. Gabriel’s on the floor, reading over Sam’s shoulder and trying to understand any of the lawyer speak Sam is putting into his paper. “I still don’t see how you’re going to submit this. Don’t papers have to be in English?”

 

“This is English… for people in law school.” Sam says and brushes his hair away from his face. He glances over at Gabriel. “Why are you watching me write my paper, anyway?”

 

“Because I’m bored, again, and I wanted to ask you a question.” Gabriel shifts so that he’s leaning against the couch, and somewhat against Sam. Gabriel’s been planning out ways to get Cas and Dean together, only to realise that he doesn’t know anything about Dean. He’s known Cas for twelve years, so he knows what to do to push Cas towards Dean, but he doesn’t know how to push Dean towards Cas.

 

Sam turns on his side so that he’s facing Gabriel. “Okay, what’s the question?”

 

“So, hypothetically, let’s say that… someone was trying to hook your brother up with… someone else.” Gabriel talks with his hands when he’s lying, or doesn’t know what he’s talking about but is trying to sound informed. This is one of the lying cases… well, more like being vague and leaving out a lot of stuff. “And, the someone else is kind of… really socially awkward, but he’s got a huge crush on your brother…”

 

“Wait, hold on.”  Sam puts a hand up to Gabriel’s face. Gabriel puts his hand on Sam’s and intertwines their fingers, pulling their hands down together. Sam squeezes Gabriel’s hand. “You said this hypothetical person was a guy, right? Dean doesn’t like guys.”

 

“What, not at all?” Gabriel’s gold eyes widen, and his head tilts slightly, a habit he picked up from Castiel. Gabriel’s good enough at reading people to be able to tell a person’s sexuality, once he starts to get to know them. Not just if they’re gay/straight/bisexual/whatever, but their specific preferences. He’s only been wrong about a person’s sexuality once, and that was with Cas. Gabriel had thought that his friend was asexual until Dean entered the picture; Castiel had never shown an attraction to either gender in all the years he and Gabriel knew each other. Then Dean happens and changes everything in Gabriel and Castiel’s lives, mostly for the better.

 

Gabriel only wishes that he could still have a perfect record of sexuality guesses, but he’s willing to let that go because now, Castiel can have someone for himself, and Gabriel can have Sam. And Sam is pretty awesome.

 

“Gabe, I’ve grown up with Dean, and I’ve never seen him interested in anything that wasn’t female.” Sam stares down at Gabriel, who narrows his eyes in response. Gabriel is sure that there are some gay-waves coming off of Dean, just very subtly and very closeted. Gabriel gives Sam one raised eyebrow. “Are you sure, Sam? No interest at all? Dean’s never looked at another guy, or been a little too obsessed with some male celebrity of something…?”

 

“Well, he’s kind of a closeted Dr. Sexy fan. And by that I mean that he has all six seasons on DVD right over there.” Sam lets go of Gabriel’s hand and points at a stand of DVDs next to the television; sure enough, there are six Dr. Sexy DVDs in the middle of the stack, surrounded by Star Wars trilogies and some explosive-y car movies that Gabriel’s never heard of and probably wouldn’t care about. Gabriel whips his head back around to face Sam again, grinning. “Oh my God, I am so using that against your brother somehow!”

 

“Halloween’s in a week… you could have Cas dress up like Dr. Sexy and drag him off to Rachel’s party.” Rachel is one of Sam’s friends from law school. She had a Halloween party every year (or at least every year that she and Sam had known each other), and Sam had already invited Gabriel to be his plus one. Bringing Castiel along as well wouldn’t be too hard, and Sam knows that Rachel won’t mind.

 

Gabriel sits up. “Wait, how did you know that I was trying to set Cas up with Dean?”

 

“I’m a law student. Reading people is what I do.” Sam shrugs. He sits up and closes his laptop, staring down at Gabriel with an expression on his face that is similar to what Castiel looks like when he’s studying someone for a portrait. Gabriel looks back up at Sam. “So… are you going to help me, or am I on my own for this little adventure of _Gabe you stupid son of a bitch, you’re going to get shot for being so stupid_? Because I’d really like _some_ help, seeing as I know… nothing about your brother, save for his Dr. Sexy obsession you just told me about earlier.”

 

“What do you want to know?” Sam moves his laptop off of the couch so that Gabriel is no longer confined to the floor. Gabriel winks at Sam and moves up onto the newly opened seat where Sam’s laptop had been previously. “I’ve been upgraded. But, anyway, tell me about how you two ended up in New York in the first place. Give me a back story that I can work with.”

 

“Alright.”

 

<<<<>>>> 

 

_Three years prior to meeting Gabriel, Sam was living in a different apartment, closer to campus, with Jess. Sam and Jess had been together since they were fifteen, and Jess knew about most of the tragedies that had befallen the Winchester family: the death of their mother, their younger brother, Adam’s kidnapping, and the recent death of their father._

 

_Dean was still in Kansas, working with Bobby at the salvage yard. Sam hadn’t talked to Dean in a while, but he knew that his brother was acting as a father to his girlfriend’s son, Ben. Lisa said that Ben wasn’t Dean’s, but she seemed to be the only one who thought that. Dean liked Ben anyway; the two had connected almost instantaneously when Lisa had returned to Kansas with Ben._

 

_It was early November, and Sam and Jess were walking back to their apartment after their classes had finished. They were discussing the teaching methods of one of their professors; Sam said he was good at what he did because he had a lot of in-depth knowledge on the topics he lectured about, but Jess claimed that his lectures were too rambling and hard to pay attention to._

 

_When they got back to the base of the apartment building, they found someone waiting. That someone was Dean._

 

_“Dean? What… what are you doing here?” Sam said as he tapped in the pass code. He was looking at Dean as he typed, and kept an eye on his brother as the three of them entered the building and rode the elevator up to the fifth floor, where Sam and Jess’s apartment was. Dean refused to look at his brother, instead choosing to focus on Jess. “Hey, Jess, are you and Sam still going out?”_

 

_“Of course.” Jess nodded. “Dean, it’s great to see you, but I know you… you never just pop in to say hi and check up on Sam’s relationships, especially not without telling us first. Is… has something happened?”_

 

_Dean shrugged, and Sam could tell that, yes, something had happened, but, no, Dean wasn’t going to talk about it. That only managed to worry Sam more, because when Dean wouldn’t talk, it meant that he was upset. Sam had only seen his brother really upset three times, and someone had been dead each time. Adam wasn’t necessarily dead, but he had been missing for ten years. If the kidnapper hadn’t killed Adam immediately after taking him… well, Adam was long gone. Sam and Dean had mostly forgotten about their brother, because whenever he came up, the conversations always turned dark._

 

_The three young adults entered Sam and Jess’s apartment and Dean walked over to the counter, leaning against it like he belonged in the room. He was watching Sam, trying to send his younger brother a message, trying to let Sam know that he wanted to talk about what was going on, but he didn’t want to drag Jess into it. Sam didn’t get the message, but Jess did, and so she excused herself from the apartment. “You two catch up; I just realised that I was supposed to be meeting Rachel at the library to work on some stuff.”_

 

_Jess didn’t actually have a project to work on with Rachel, she was just being considerate and letting the brothers do their whole depressing family bonding stuff. Because it was always depressing family stuff with the Winchesters._

 

 

_Back at the apartment, neither Sam nor Dean knew how to start the conversation they both knew that they needed to have. Eventually, Sam’s curiousity (and a bit of fear, but Sam would only ever admit that to himself) won over, and he asked. “Dean, what the hell happened? It’s great that you’re here, but… something’s up. I can just tell.”_

 

_“Is that some lawyer technique they taught you? How to tell that your brother’s life is currently sucking?” Dean folded his arms over his chest defensively. Sam copied Dean’s stance. “Dean, stay on topic. Something happened to someone close to you, and I’m worried. Most of the people that are close to you are close to me too, Dean.”_

 

_“No one died, if that’s what you’re implying.” Dean got off of the counter and moved over to the fridge, pulling out one of the beers Sam kept in the back and snapping it open. He turned back to Sam. “Why are we even having this conversation? It’s not going to do anything, and besides, I hate dumb chick-flick moments like this anyway.”_

 

_“This isn’t dumb chick-flick, Dean. This is serious.” Sam’s expression darkened. Sure, he was relieved that he and Dean hadn’t lost yet another person that they cared about, but that didn’t mean that everything was happy and sunshine and rainbows in Dean’s area of life, either. Sam sighed. “Dean, I’m your brother; I just want to know what’s going on. I want to make sure everything’s okay back home.”_

 

_“Sam…” Dean started, but Sam shook his head. “No, Dean. There’s no way you’re getting out of this. Don’t even try. Just, explain what the hell’s going on. I promise I won’t do anything until you’re done.”_

 

_Dean slumped against the counter, his eyes trained on the floor, which was scruffy, and Jess had made it a rule that no one was allowed barefoot in the kitchen area because neither she nor Sam knew what was really down there, and they didn’t have enough money to get it repaired beyond vacuuming every week. Dean shuffled his feet and looked up at Sam. “It… you wouldn’t get it. You’ve got Jess… and you’ve always had Jess.”_

 

_Dean turned the bottle around in his hands, not sure how far he wanted to go with his conversation. He looked up, at the ceiling. “How is it that you’re so good at this kind of thing, and I suck?”_

 

_“At what kind of thing?” Sam wasn’t sure what Dean was talking about; he was no longer panicking that someone had been hurt, but he was still curious as to what had happened with Dean._

 

 

_“At the stable, domestic thing.”_

 

_“Don’t you have Lisa and Ben?” Sam asked. Dean’s face assumed a mask of indifference, and Sam knew immediately that the problem had been between Lisa and Dean. Dean had never been good at dealing with serious relationships, at least of the romantic kind; the older Winchester carried around too much baggage and refused to share it with anyone around him (Sam was usually included in the not-sharing category), and this caused a lot of people to get frustrated with Dean’s refusal to communicate._

 

_“No. I… I screwed up, and I can’t go back.” Dean said, his voice cracking a bit. His face stayed blank anyway. Sam stepped forward, trying to get clues off of Dean as to the specifics of what was going on. “So… what did you… what happened, specifically?”_

 

_“Lisa asked me to marry her, Sam.” Dean leaned his head back and laughed a shallow laugh, like he couldn’t believe anyone would stick around long enough to want to marry him. “I panicked, and I fled. I mean, I’m twenty-four, what the hell am I doing, trying to settle down? With you and Jess, it’s perfectly fine, because everyone knew you two were going to get hitched the moment she made you her prom date, but with me and Lisa…”_

 

_Dean swallowed. “Sam, I like Lisa. I do. But I didn’t love her… not the way you love Jess. I mean, I don’t know… I think I just wanted to try to be a better father than Dad… but I guess I’m not meant to do that. I guess I’m just not supposed to raise a family.”_

 

_“Dean, you raised me.” Sam said. He folded his arms over his chest again. “And you were doing fine with Ben. So, maybe it’s not the dad thing that bothers you, maybe it’s the husband thing.”_

 

_“Don’t psycho-analyze me.” Dean pouted (though Dean wouldn’t describe the expression as a pout, but Sam definitely would). Sam smiled. “Hey, you started it.”_

 

_“Shut up.”_

 

<<<<>>>> 

 

“So… big brother has some commitment issues.” Gabriel’s feet are now propped up on Sam’s legs, and he’s lounging across the couch. Sam puts his elbows on Gabriel’s legs and nods. “Yeah. Since Lisa, Dean hasn’t been in anything close to a relationship… well, there is the occasional girl from work… but…”

 

“But they aren’t a real thing. And they never last the night.” Gabriel says, and runs his hands through his hair.  Gabriel has no idea what Cas looks for in a relationship (as the guy has never had one), but the artist is definitely one for commitment. Their twelve year long friendship is enough to attest for that. Once Cas gets close to someone, he doesn’t let them go away. And since Cas is currently out with Dean (or so Gabriel supposes, as Dean’s parting words had been _I’m done with this, I’ve gotta find Cas before you two turn me into a mushy pile of chick-flick_ ), that means that Cas has gotten close to Dean, and Dean can’t escape Cas.

 

“No, not really.” Sam shrugs. “The only advice I can give you is to tell Cas not to push Dean farther than he’s ready to go.”

 

“I don’t think Cas knows _how_ to push someone. _I’m_ the one doing most of the pushing in their relationship, anyway.” Gabriel folds his arms tightly over his chest and mock-pouts. He feels like he’s the only one who wants to get Dean and Cas together, even though he knows that Cas likes Dean and (as far as Gabriel knows) _wants_ to be in a relationship with Dean. Cas just doesn’t know how to get from friends to more than friends.

 

“Okay, so, just don’t try to push them together too quickly.” Sam says, grinning at Gabriel’s expression. “Of course, I’m not against awkward date-not-dates where we set them up and then have to _cancel out_ at the last minute.”

 

“So… are you saying… what I think you’re saying?” Gabriel perks up, leaning forward, towards Sam. Sam nods. “Yeah. You bring the ideas, and I’ll help you edit them down to something relatively possible.”

 

“Everything’s possible, Sammich.” Gabriel winks. He knows this from experience; he (and occasionally Cas or another one of Gabriel’s friends) had pulled off some interesting feats. Getting a socially awkward artist and an emotionally stunted bartender together would be a piece of cake. And Gabriel liked cake.

 

“Ever tried stapling water to a tree?”

 

“Um, _yeah_. And I fucking succeeded, too.” Gabriel pulls out his phone and shows Sam the photo evidence from when he had had to prove to some asshole anon on tumblr that, yes, it was possible, and yes, Gabriel had stapled the Goddamn water to the tree. Gabriel grins at Sam. “No one said I couldn’t put the water in a baggie and _then_ staple it to the tree.”

 

“Okay, I’m not even going to bother asking why you’ve done that, because it’s you.” Sam shakes his head. “And when I said possible, I meant legal. I’ve seen some of your adventures in the paper, Gabe, and I really don’t want to drag Cas or my brother into anything I can’t get them out of.”

 

Gabriel grins at that, but Sam doesn’t give him a chance to gloat. “So, what ideas do you have, anyway?”

 

“Well, aside from your brilliant Dr. Sexy thing, which I will definitely be using, so thank you, I have one of my own.” Gabriel shifts so that his feet are under him and one of his arms is slung over the back of the couch. “It’ll have to wait until winter, when there’s snow so we can have a snowball fight. Throwing hunks of dirt at each other isn’t as romantic as throwing snow. “

 

“That’s actually normal. I’m proud of you.” Sam decides that patting Gabriel on the head for his efforts is a good idea; Gabriel disagrees. He hates people touching his head. Unless they’re in bed with him and they’re pulling his hair. Gabriel’s okay with _that_ , but he and Sam aren’t in bed, and Sam’s patting him like a dog, not pulling his hair, and so Gabriel is _not_ okay with his current situation. Gabriel grabs Sam’s arm and pushes it away from his face. Sam manages to grab Gabriel’s wrist (Gabriel doesn’t understand the physics of his boyfriend, not that he’s complaining or anything) and pulls Gabriel over on top of him. Gabriel grins. “Not what I was planning to accomplish, but I can manage with this.”

 

“What were you trying to do?”

 

“Not important.” Gabriel kisses Sam, both men smiling. Gabriel adjusts his position so that he’s straddling Sam, one leg on each side of the younger man, as Sam moves his hands from Gabriel’s arms to his lower back. Gabriel pulls Sam closer, nibbling at his boyfriend’s lower lip.

 

Of course, the world hates Gabriel (Gabriel admits that the world probably has a list of good reasons to be a bitch to him, after all of the not really legal but not necessarily _illegal_ things Gabriel’s done), and so the door to the Winchester apartment opens at that moment. And that means that Dean has returned from his expedition to wherever. He’s talking to someone (Gabriel really hopes that it’s Cas, but he is also wishing that Dean would _get the fuck out now please_ ). Gabriel rolls his eyes and gets off of Sam (Dean Winchester should be renamed Professional Moment Ruiner or Cockblocker Extraordinaire or something), sitting up so that he can see over the back of the couch. He grins, because Dean is standing next to Cas and not some random girl (who could go burn in hell for getting in the way of Gabriel’s newest ploy).

 

Except, Dean doesn’t know that he ruined the moment yet. that’s not important. What’s important is that Dean is talking to Cas, animatedly, about something. Cas is (surprisingly enough) not staring adoringly at Dean, but is instead focused on Gabriel (and Sam, who has decided to show his face and attempt to look like Dean hasn’t just come in at a kind of really not good time). Castiel’s eyes widen and his face flushes, which makes Gabriel wonder if, somehow, in the presence of Dean, Cas somehow picked up a mind-reading ability, because he looks like he knows exactly what Gabriel is thinking about (which is not Sam, but how couple-y Cas and Dean look at the moment). Either that or Gabriel and Cas have been friends long enough that Cas can understand Gabriel via smirks, and Gabriel can understand Cas via Cas’s different blushes.

 

“Hey, Cas, you okay? You look a bit spooked.” Okay, so apparently Dean is one unobservant muttonhead because, _hello_ , Cas is staring straight at a smirking Gabriel and Sam, who are peering over the couch and watching Dean, who is apparently too focused on Cas to notice anything else.

 

Wait. That’s a good thing. Dean’s focused on Cas. _Dean’s focused on Cas_. Gabriel has somehow managed to get one emotionally stunted Dean Winchester to take notice of one socially awkward Castiel Milton. Gabriel considers this a success (he’s also going to pointedly ignore the fact that Dean’s interest in Cas happened while Gabriel and Sam were plotting how to get Dean and Cas together slash having emotional conversations slash somewhat making out on the couch).

 

“Hey Dean.” Dean spins around at the sound of Sam’s voice and relaxes when he realises that it’s only his younger brother. He looks between Sam and Gabriel on the couch and Castiel at the door. “Oh. Well that makes sense. How long have you two been creeping on us?”

 

“Since you got back.” Gabriel says proudly. He’s almost forgotten about the interrupted kissing. Almost. He’ll just get back at Dean later. Without the knowledge of the older Winchester brother. Dean won’t know what hit him.

 

“You sure know how to pick them, Sammy. Dean leans against the counter. He looks like he’s in a good mood, and it’s not his usual _oh I’m fine, don’t mind the man secretly wallowing in his own guilt_ mode where he makes everyone think he’s find (Sam’s told Gabriel this; Gabriel’s just taking note of whenever it happens, and whenever Dean’s legitimately in a good mood. This usually occurs around Sam or Cas).

 

“Pick what?” Gabriel takes this glorious moment in _brilliant shit Cas says when he has no clue what’s going on with society_ to facepalm, loudly. Gabriel lets out a small “ow”, having hit himself harder than intended. Once he’s recovered (it doesn’t take long), Gabriel deanpans at Cas. “Pick dates, boyfriends, you know… relationship things. Dean’s saying that Sam has an odd taste in relationship things.”

 

“So we’re a relationship thing now?” Sam raises an eyebrow at Gabriel. Gabriel puts his hands up in mock surrender. “Hey, it’s generic. That, and I’m trying to explain everything in terms that Mr. _How does society even work_ will understand. Forgive me for being inaccurate.”

 

“Forgiven.” Sam says. He squeezes Gabriel’s hand before turning his attention to his brother. “So, what did you and Cas do?”

 

“Laser tag. I saw you beat me.” Dean gets up off the counter and approaches Sam and Gabriel. He glances back over his shoulder to see that Cas is still standing by the door (and still looking like he’s waiting for something Gabriel-made to go off). Dean crosses his arms and faces Cas with a serious expression on his face. “You can leave the door, Cas. No one’s stopping you.”

 

“Oh.” Castiel says. His face goes red again and he steps away from the door. Gabriel waits until the eventual couple (if Gabriel doesn’t explode from frustration first) gets around to the other side of the couch before he turns himself around and pulls out a pack of Starbursts. He opens one and pops it in his mouth. “So Cassie, what’s this Laser Tag thing like?”

 

“Um… tiring. Fun. It’s… it was fun.” Castiel glances at Dean, then looks away as his face reddens again. The dark-haired man shoves his hands into the pockets of his trench coat. _He’s waiting for Dean’s judgment, and he doesn’t think it’ll be positive._ Gabriel sits forward with his elbows on his knees, gold eyes narrowed at Dean. He attempts to send Dean a telepathic message saying _If you insult my friend, so help me I will rip your throat out. Be nice, Winchester._ Gabriel can only hope that Dean can read other people’s minds.

 

Actually, he hopes that Dean _can’t_ read other people’s minds, because Gabriel was definitely _not_ thinking of things he wanted Dean to be aware of when the older Winchester came back into the apartment.

 

“Yeah, Cas isn’t half bad.” Dean looks over at Castiel, who looks up at Dean with a look that Gabriel has only ever seen on puppies before. And the puppies were being given huge treats when they looked like that. Dean turns from Castiel to Gabriel, and Gabriel gets the sense that Dean might have those dreaded slash appreciated mind-reading powers. Either that, or Dean has some magical older brother sensor that Gabriel never got because he was the youngest and apparently playing mentor to Castiel for twelve years does _not_ qualify one for Older Brother Privileges.

 

Gabriel has decided that, no matter what Dean says next, he hates being the youngest sibling in a family. Youngest siblings don’t get any sixth senses because they have older siblings that protect them or guide them or lead them unknowingly to their doom.

 

To Sam, Dean says, “Have you ever taken Gabe there? Because if you haven’t, you need to.”

 

“Sure. Bring Cas.” Sam says, and Gabriel resists the urge to tackle Sam, for two reasons: Sam basically just set up a double date between Dean and Cas and Sam and Gabriel, and because Sam agreed with Dean’s idea to make Gabriel become a part of this Laser Tag thing. Sure, Gabriel’s done some immature, childish things in his life, but he doesn’t really feel a need to add Laser Tag to the list. Instead of tackling the man, Gabriel just gives Sam a pointed look of _you will regret volunteering me for this later_ and then settles back into the couch as Dean goes on to explain just how awesome the whole Laser Tag experience with Cas was.

 

Gabriel switches between watching Castiel and watching Sam. Castiel looks tired, but it’s not a bad tired. It’s more of a post-sex tired. The _wow, that was exhausting, but I could totally keep doing it until I passed out_ look. Gabriel takes that as a success; Castiel always looks worn out after having to interact with people for more than fifteen minutes, but his worn outed-ness is usually a _I’m so done with existence right now and I’d like to go home and hibernate for ten years now please_ after dealing with people. Which means that, even though Castiel still sucks at interacting with other people, he’s at least enjoying the experience when it’s with Dean.

 

That’s more than Gabriel ever got, but Gabriel, instead of being jealous of Dean, is actually ecstatic. Someone else has gotten Castiel’s attention, and Castiel has gotten their attention as well. Gabriel’s okay with not being Castiel’s only go-to for information anymore. It gives them both some more freedom.

 

Dean glances past Sam and Gabriel and his eyes widen. “Oh, shit, I have to go!”

 

“Where?” Castiel tilts his head, blue eyes wide and clueless. Poor kid (Castiel isn’t a kid anymore, he’s twenty-seven, but Gabriel will forever refer to his friend as a kid). He doesn’t want Dean to leave. Either that, or Castiel’s finally caught on to the fact that _being a third wheel is not a good thing_ and wants to let Sam and Gabriel get back to what they were doing before they were interrupted by Castiel and Dean. Gabriel highly doubts that it’s the latter option; Castiel’s spent almost ten years arguing for the case of the third wheel.

 

“Gotta work. Unlike you and Gabe, I have these things called shifts. If I don’t get to my shift on time, I don’t have a job anymore.” It isn’t as simple as that, but Gabriel knows that Dean’s explaining real work to the clueless artist as best as he can.

 

“Oh.” Castiel shifts a bit. _He’s trying to figure out a way to make his time with Dean last longer. Good boy._ Gabriel smiles to himself. Sam notices and smiles back. The younger Winchester addresses his brother and Castiel. “Gabe and I were doing some _stuff_ ” Gabriel supposes that _stuff_ could mean _making out on the couch_ or _plotting ho to get Winchester and Milton together as an item_ “sp, uh, if you” (talking to Cas, trying to get a message across, good luck with that, Sam) “want to go with Dean… you can.”

 

 _Can_ in this context means _you better do what this future lawyer says because the third wheel is really unnecessary right now_. Castiel manages to pick up on this point, so he nods and turns to Dean. “C-can… can I?”

 

“Yeah, sure. I’ll drop you off at your apartment if you’d like.” Dean gets up off the coffee table where he’d been sitting and pulls his keys from his pocket. Castiel stands up, still staring at Dean. Gabriel’s proud of Dean; he’s already built up immunity to Castiel’s staring problem. He hasn’t said a thing about the staring yet, and Castiel has pretty much been staring at Dean since they got into the apartment.

 

The two leave, and as soon as the door closes, Gabriel _does_ tackle Sam, grinning with his face pressed against Sam’s chest. Sam lets out a surprised laugh. “Gabe, what’re you doing?”

 

“I think I love you, Samuel whatever your middle name is Winchester.” Gabriel moves his head so that his chin is on Sam’s chest and he’s looking up at the moose-man genius he has the privilege of dating. Sam looks down at his boyfriend with both eyebrows raised. “Okay… why?”

 

“Well, Dean’s taking Cas home, which means more bonding time for them, _and_ you sort-of on purpose set the four of us up for a random double date at this Laser Tag place you and your brother can’t shut up about.” Gabriel is disregarding his reluctance to take part in this double date; he’ll sacrifice what’s left of his dignity (which, really, isn’t that much, not after the hair dye incident from high school) to help Castiel get a date (and more, because Gabriel Speight is never satisfied) out of Dean Winchester. “ _And,_ you’ve managed to get us back to where we were before Dean and Castiel happened.”

 

“Actually, I’m pretty sure that you’re the one who did that.” Sam says. Gabriel shrugs. “Does it really matter?”

 

“No.”

 

“Thought so.” Gabriel grins. He gets up off Sam’s chest and moves up to his boyfriend’s mouth, kissing him again. Sam kisses back, his hands in Gabriel’s hair as the older man runs his hands up and down Sam’s plaid-clad torso. Sam nips at Gabriel’s lip and Gabriel grins, opening his mouth and letting Sam’s tongue in. Gabriel takes control though; he only lets Sam lead because Sam’s six years his junior and Gabriel  isn’t about to make Sam go somewhere he’s not ready or willing to go.

 

Sam pulls back from Gabriel for a moment, his hazel eyes on the man above him. “Oh, and in response to your earlier comment, I think I love you too, Gabriel Speight.”

 

“Exactly as planned.” Gabriel kisses Sam on his neck, nuzzling against the taller man. Gabriel’s glad that Dean happened to Castiel. If Dean hadn’t happened, then Gabriel would have never met Sam at the CSAH showing, and that would have been a tragedy. Sam’s one of the better things karma’s thrown at Gabriel.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one has mentions of anxiety/anxiety attacks and a mention of what could be interpreted as an eating disorder(?). 
> 
> just in case any of you might get triggered by that. it's not explicit, but i'd rather be on the safe side.

It was Halloween day, and Castiel was in Gabe’s apartment, apparently dressed in the wrong costume. It didn’t wasn’t Castiel’s fault that he didn’t know how to properly dress for Halloween parties; Gabe had never before in their twelve years of friendship dragged Castiel out on Halloween night, save for their first Halloween as friends. That Halloween adventure had gone relatively well, save for the fact that they were both almost arrested for TP-ing one of Gabe’s neighbour’s houses. Other than that, it was pretty enjoyable.

 

“Cas, I don’t _care_ how much you want to go as the Tenth Doctor. No one there will know who he is, and trust me on this, you really _do_ _not_ want to have to spend the whole freaking night explaining why you’re dressed in a blue suit thing and converse!” Gabe was already in his costume (which wasn’t really a costume; Gabe had just found some semi-crumpled angel wings in the back of his closet an hour before and had strapped them on, claiming himself an angel) and was looking really frustrated. Castiel couldn’t figure out why; since when did Gabe care so much about how Castiel looked? Gabe sighed and shoved the plastic-wrapped medical garb towards Castiel again. “Look, just put it on. _Please_.”

 

“Who is Dr… _Sexy_?” Castiel looks up from the label on the lab coat. Castiel has a feeling that this is all some joke that Gabe has come up with to bother and/or embarrass the living shit out of Castiel with. Castiel wouldn’t put it past Gabe to do something like that; he’s been doing so ever since he met Castiel. Sometimes Castiel wonders why he’s still friends with the photographer, but Castiel knows that he’d miss Gabe if he tried to part with the man. That doesn’t mean that Castiel is going to willingly submit to Gabe’s ideas and dress up as this “Dr. Sexy” character-thing. Gabe can’t force Castiel into some medical doctor outfit, because unlike Gabe, Castiel _likes_ his dignity.

 

“He’s a character… from a show… _just put the damn lab coat on Cas_!” Gabe balls up said lab coat and tosses it to Castiel. Castiel puts his hands up as it hits him, and Gabe laughs. Castiel picks up the costume and glares at his friend. “You… shut up.”

 

“You’re adorable. Now get sexy.” Gabe motions for Castiel to go into the bathroom and change into the uniform, and Castiel just stares at him. He doesn’t understand what Gabe’s ulterior motive is in this situation; Gabe always has an ulterior motive when he tries (and generally succeeds) to get Castiel to do something that Castiel considers to be a bad idea (and generally is, despite what Gabe claims otherwise). Gabe points to the bathroom door and narrows his eyes in a way that is supposed to mean _bitch, do not even try me on this_ , but after being subject to that look for twelve years, Castiel’s pretty much immune to it. Gabe strides over to Castiel. “Cas, get in the bathroom and put on the Dr. Sexy thing or I swear to all that is made of sugar that _I will make it happen_. Painfully, if necessary.”

 

“Who _is_ Dr. Sexy?” Castiel asks again, because Gabe’s frustration is starting to rub off on him. Castiel doesn’t really want to _go_ to this party thing that Gabe hasn’t been able to shut up about for the past week. It’s starting to look like Castiel’s senior prom all over again, except this time (Castiel hopes, but he can’t ever be too sure with Gabe) there won’t be any dressing in drag.

 

Honestly, the more Gabe drags Castiel out into public to try and assist him in his ridiculous stunts, the _less_ Castiel wants anything to do with society.

 

“He’s a character from some romcom-ish show about a hospital. Or something like that.” Gabe is moving his hands as he talks, like an Italian would. That means that Gabe doesn’t really know what he’s talking about, and Castiel is more than willing to call the photographer out on his bluff. Castiel tilts his head to the side. “Do you… do you even _watch_ the show?”

 

“Um…” is Gabe’s genius response as he runs a hand through his hair. He hasn’t watched the show. He probably hasn’t even really heard of the show, which means that Gabe is having Castiel dress up like this Dr. Sexy character because someone else at the party asked for it. That finalises Castiel’s decision: he’s either going as the tenth Doctor, or he’s not going at all.

 

“Look, Cas, I get it. This whole thing seems kind of sketchy, but… trust me. You won’t regret going to this party.” As sincere as Gabriel looks, Castiel’s still made up his mind. The dark-haired artist shakes his head. “No, Gabe. I’m not going as someone I’ve never heard of.”

 

“But if I let you go as the Doctor, you’ll come without any resistance? Well, without anymore resistance than would be normally expected of you?” Gabe looks hopeful, and Castiel nods. If Gabe requires that he has to leave the house and go to a Halloween party at Rachel’s apartment (Castiel doesn’t know who Rachel is and he probably never will because there’s a very slim chance of him ever talking to this person), then Castiel will relent and deal with society. Hopefully he won’t have to do it for more than a few hours, but Castiel knows that Gabe’s parties are rarely short. Castiel’s not really expecting to get back to the safety of his apartment before the month of November begins.

 

Gabe grins at his friend, his gold eyes flashing with success. “Alrighty then. Let’s go. We needed to leave… five minutes ago if you still hate the subway system.”

 

Castiel still does hate subways, so he lets Gabe drag him out of the apartment, onto the street, and into a taxi. The driver doesn’t question Gabe’s wings, which surprises neither of the passengers. Gabe doesn’t care how people react to his antics, as long as they react, and Castiel knows that once Gabriel’s been in an area for long enough, people just start _expecting_ odd things to happen to them. And, as far as Castiel knows, Gabe is not one to disappoint.

 

When they get to the building this Rachel person lives in, Castiel can already _see_ the party occurring on the third floor apartment overlooking the street. Castiel attempts to choke back his nervousness, but he’s still sweating like hell. He glances over at Gabe, who’s already entering the building, and realises that his fate has pretty much been sealed. He enters the building after Gabe and follows his friend up the stairs to the source of the noises. Castiel is reminded of his time at college, and that really does not help his current situation.

 

Castiel and college did not mix well, probably because of all the new people and the noise and socialising that went on there, and Castiel is surprised that he managed to survive his four years as an undergraduate before Gabe practically dragged him out. Castiel is forever grateful that Gabe got him out of there; Castiel’s anxiety had gotten so bad during college that it was slowly turning him into nothing and killing him in the process. He couldn’t eat, sleep, and half of the time Castiel was skipping class (and then panicking because he was sure that his absence would be noted and some official would come after him) and laying in bed because he didn’t have the energy or the will to get up.  In a weird, not Gabriel Speight-like at all way, Gabe saved Castiel. Castiel supposes that’s just what friends do; they protect each other when needed.

 

Castiel wishes that Gabe will do some protecting now, because there are way too many people in this college-esque apartment for Castiel to be remotely comfortable. And, while he recognises some of them, Castiel realises that they are all younger than him and Gabe, and most of them are probably still in school somewhere. Castiel swallows and focuses on Gabe, who’s mingling in well with the other party-goers. Castiel doesn’t mingle. At all. Instead, he makes his way over to a corner of the room and sits down in a chair. The chair isn’t comfortable and he wonders why this Rachel person even has it in her apartment. He also wonders who this Rachel person is, and why she thought it would be a good idea to invite Gabe to a party where there would be copious amounts of candy. And alcohol, but Castiel’s pretty sure that Gabe will cause enough mischief without any alcohol. Castiel might get some just so he’ll have something to do other than sit awkwardly in the corner and wait for Gabe to finish, but for now he’s going to just sit in this uncomfortable chair and sketch people. It’ll give him something to do so that he won’t be subject to other people’s attempts to converse with him.

 

Unfortunately, not everyone seems to understand that when the sketchbook is out, _the Cas is not available._ A blonde woman holding a plastic cup with punch (that has probably been spiked, Castiel wouldn’t be surprised if it was) sits down next to him and glances at his sketchbook. Castiel acts like he doesn’t notice her blatantly watching him because he hopes that she’ll get the subtle message of _please leave me alone_. She doesn’t, because _no one_ seems to understand Castiel’s mental signals. She adjusts her grip on the cup. “You’re an artist?”

 

Castiel looks up then, because he’s really bad at ignoring society when society talks to him. He blames his parents for that; as a child, his mother taught him to never ignore people when they were talking, and forced him to interact with people until Castiel stopped ignoring people and made uneasy eye contact with them when they spoke. Castiel had never ignored people because he was a rude kid, he had ignored then because, even as a child, he knew that he was bad at interacting. He still hates talking to strangers. He hates it because he only makes a fool of himself when he tries.

 

Castiel nods slightly, remembering that a response of some kind is necessary. The blonde looks down at Castiel’s sketchbook again, then back up at the artist, who she now has a full view of. The eyes widen and her mouth opens in surprise, and Castiel curls back into his trench coat (thank God he convinced Gabe to let him wear it instead of the medical garb). She knows who he is, artistically, and she’s going to do the thing where she asks rapid-fire questions about the philosophy and drive behind his work. Castiel hates this part of his job as an artist, but it’s the only part he detests, and being an artist is better than any other alternative occupation. At least his “working hours,” which are whenever Castiel decides they are, are all alone in his apartment. No human interaction, no interruptions aside from Gabe. But Castiel’s used to Gabe now, so whenever the blonde photographer interrupts him, Castiel usually just lobs a pencil in Gabe’s general direction.

 

“You must be Cas! Dean won’t stop talking about you; he said his brother had invited you and your friend, but Dean wasn’t sure you’d show up…” Castiel tunes out the rest of what she says (her voice is also drowned out by the music, which is nothing like Dean’s and grates on Castiel’s nerves), and instead focuses on the fact that he and Gabe were invited to this damn party by _Sam_. Which can mean only one thing: Gabe managed to convince Sam to join him in the _get Castiel and Dean together_ plot. Which can’t be good. Gabe alone is bad enough. Gabe plus a sidekick (willing or unwilling, it doesn’t matter)signifies the destruction of at least three things, minimum.

 

“…Dean’ll be glad you came.” She continues, apparently oblivious that Castiel is only half paying attention. “He’s one of the few people here who isn’t at Columbia, so he doesn’t really know anyone, which I guess is weird for him, and I know he doesn’t want to play third wheel to Sam and his new boyfriend.”

 

She looks away from Castiel and searches the room, trying to find someone. Castel has a feeling that she’s looking for Dean, but he also hopes that she’s looking for someone else to talk to so that she’ll leave Castiel alone with his drawings. She waves, and Castiel follows her line of vision to see Dean, dressed like a cowboy and looking… well, more attractive than usual. Castiel flushes red and looks down at his sketchbook, ignoring the cowboy boots that appear in front of him a few seconds later. Castiel shoves his glasses back up his nose and takes a nervous, shuddering breath. This room is ridiculously stuffy, and Castiel would rather be anywhere other  than here, in some unknown apartment owned by a random stranger that Castiel knows nothing of save for her name, with a cowboy Dean standing in front of him with a cheeky grin on his face. Castiel knows it’s there, and he knows he’s going to be drawing it for a while.

 

“So, Cas, I see you’ve found Rachel.” Dean says. Castiel’s eyes flick to the blonde woman (apparently the Rachel who owns the apartment and is hosting this party) and then immediately return to his sketchbook. His hand is sweaty again, and he’s smearing the sketch he had been working on. Castiel hates himself a bit, because he can’t even garner up enough courage to _look_ at Dean.

 

“I found him, actually. He’s not very talkative.” Rachel says, and even though Castiel knows she’s only making an observation, it still sounds like an insult. _He’s not very talkative_. Like there’s something inherently wrong with Castiel’s inability to talk to people without turning into a nervous wreck. Castiel hunches his shoulders and doesn’t even bother looking up at Dean. He expects the freckled bartender to agree. He expects Dean to laugh, to extend the insult further, even though it’s not meant as an insult. But Dean doesn’t. Castiel should know better by now’ Dean never does what Castiel expects him to do. That’s just not how Dean works.

 

“Cas doesn’t need to talk that much. He’s got his drawings.” Dean points down, at Castiel’s sketchbooks, and Castiel looks up at Dean, his eyes wide. Dean flashes the artist a grin. “You know, a picture’s worth a thousand words? That’s kinda Cas’s mantra.”

 

“He told you this?” Rachel raises an eyebrow and Castiel mimics her expression. _When did I tell Dean that? Is that even my mantra? And if it is, why’d I get stuck with such a cliché mantra?_ Castiel is aware that he doesn’t understand much about Dean, if anything at all, but what if, somehow, Dean understands Castiel more than _Castiel_ understands himself? That would explain the whole mantra thing.

 

“He didn’t have to.” Dean crosses his arms over his chest, and he looks really smug, as though figuring out Castiel is his greatest accomplishment ever. Castiel tilts his head to the side, not quite sure what to make of Dean’s stance, and Dean looks over at Castiel. Castiel’s face continues to heat up, and he wonders if his face is the same colour as his converse yet. It wouldn’t surprise him; he’s always blushing whenever he’s around Dean.

 

Rachel glances between the two men for a moment before standing up and taking another sip of her drink. “Well, I’ve got more people to talk to, so you and Cas have fun. And don’t kill anyone… or anything else macabre like that.”

 

“Yes mom.” Dean rolls his eyes at Rachel as she exits, leaving Dean and Castiel alone in Castiel’s self-named corner of antisocial creatures. Dean asks Castiel if he wants a drink, and Castiel manages a nod. Dean disappears and Castiel watches him go, wishing he was going with him. Castiel decides that he’s going to actually talk to Dean tonight, and that he’s going to do it without stuttering or having to start his response over. He’s going to talk to Dean, and he’s going to do it without screwing up. Castiel forces himself to breathe, and to not think about the headache the music is giving him, or how dry his throat is or how he feels so damn nervous that he might just end up puking his lungs out. Again. This isn’t college, and Castiel can leave this party any time he wants, as long as Dean brings him back his drink. Castiel knows it’s rude to ditch someone while they’re doing something for him. Gabe taught Castiel that.

 

Dean returns with a glass of alcohol (Castiel doesn’t ask what it is; Dean’s a bartender and so Castiel trusts Dean to not give him anything too dangerous) and hands it to Castiel. Castiel takes it and immediately drinks from it, ignoring the burn save for the slight face he makes after swallowing. Whatever it is, it’s strong.

 

“Too much?” Dean asks, and Castiel shakes his head. He may have a lot of qualities that make him tease-worthy, but being a light-weight drinker is not one of them. It takes a lot to get Castiel to the point of being smashed, something Gabe has learned on multiple occasions. Castiel takes another drink from his glass; this one doesn’t burn as much. “No. I don’t get drunk. Easily. I can still get drunk. But it… it takes a lot.”

 

 _Not too bad._ Castiel thinks to himself. Sure, his speech was choppy, but he didn’t feel like he was tripping over his words as they came out of his mouth. He takes another drink from the glass, this one longer than the previous two, and considers his reply to be a success. He attempts to smile at Dean, but the smile feels wrong, so he stops. Castiel doesn’t understand how people are able to smile all the time; smiling is _hard_.

 

“Interesting.” Dean nods and sits down in the seat that Rachel had previously vacated. “I’ll try to remember to never challenge you to a drinking contest.”

 

“Okay.” Castiel says, because he’s not sure what else to say, and “okay” seems to be an acceptable response no matter what the conversation (unless the conversation is about someone losing someone they care about; the appropriate response for that is “oh, I’m so sorry,” even if he doesn’t know the mourner or the dead person). Dean nods again, and the conversation seems to end there. Which isn’t what Castiel wants at all. Which is weird, seeing as, usually, Castiel can’t wait until a conversation with another person is over so that he can retreat back to his apartment and not have to deal with people for the next three or four days. It’s weird, because even though Castiel still feels really nervous around Dean, he’s actually trying to talk to him and interact with him. It’s nothing like his friendship with Gabe, where Gabe practically latched onto Castiel and _made_ their friendship happen. No, this time, Castiel is _actively trying to make friends_. For any other twenty-seven year old male, this would be easy. But for Castiel Milton, nothing is ever easy. Except for his art, and other intellectual, creative stuff. Dean’s not art, though. Dean’s a _human_. So Castiel decides to do something completely new, and tries to initiate a conversation. “Dean?”

 

“Yeah Cas?” Dean’s focus is on Castiel, and for a moment, Castiel forgets what he was planning to say. He’s not used to any of this, and it’s showing. Castiel rubs the back of his neck. “I… I was wondering if you knew what this song is. The one that’s playing.”

 

“No idea. I don’t listen to this kind of shi— _stuff_ , Cas. It’s just not my thing.” Dean takes a drink from his cup, and Castiel watches Dean’s neck as the man swallows. Castiel finds watching people to be one of the more fascinating things in life. It’s interesting (to Castiel at least) to see how different people do the same things, and make themselves unique through their minute actions. Dean, for example, always swipes his tongue over his upper lip after he drinks anything. Dean does that and sets the drink down. “You know, this party isn’t really my thing either… but Sam said he wanted be here, and well… he’s my little brother. I don’t really question him.”

 

 _You should. He’s working with Gabe now, and that can’t be good for one or both of us._ Castiel thinks, closing his sketchbook. “Do you… know anyone else here?”

 

“Nope. Do you?” Dean asks. Castiel shakes his head in reply, because even though he recognises some of these people, he doesn’t actually know any of them. Not like he knows Gabe or Dean or even Sam. Castiel only knows these people’s faces, nothing more. Dean smirks. “So, uh, how much would I have to pay you to convince you that we should leave and find somewhere else to go and something else to do?”

 

“Um… nothing?” Castiel doesn’t understand why Dean thinks that he would have to pay Castiel to make him want to leave. Castiel is more than willing to leave; he just isn’t sure why Dean would chose to leave with him of all people. Castiel considers asking, but decides against it. He doesn’t want to say anything that will make Dean change his mind.

 

“You’re cheap. Awesome.” Dean says. He doesn’t get up to leave, even though Castiel can tell he wants to go. Castiel knows that expression too well, it’s the one he sees in the mirror most often. It’s an expression of _how the hell do I get out of this without making myself seem like a complete assbutt?_ Castiel closes his sketchbook and puts his pencil in the pocket of his trench coat. He looks over at Dean, about to say something, but Dean starts talking first. “Either that, or you’ve just never been faced with a bribe before.”

 

“What?” Castiel tilts his head, narrowing his eyes in confusion.

 

“You don’t know what a bribe is, or you’re just completely lost about what I’m saying?” Dean asks. It’s the second one; Castiel knows exactly what a bribe is (because Gabe). The truth is, he’s confused, and tired, because all of these people and sounds and smells are hard to keep track of and make sense of. Castiel pushes his glasses up his face again. “I’m… I’m lost.”

 

“Sorry.” Dean shrugs. He looks out into the party again, and Castiel wonders if he’s keeping Dean from having fun. While Castiel enjoys talking to Dean, he knows that he isn’t the most interesting person in the world and that Dean would probably rather be anywhere besides in the corner of a party with an artist who can’t really communicate fluently with the rest of the world. Castiel swallows the last of his drink. “Dean… if you… want to leave me and… have fun… I don’t… I don’t mind. I’m okay alone.”

 

“What? No way, Cas.” Dean shakes his head, a weird smile on his face. It’s weird, because it doesn’t seem natural. Dean continues. “Look, Cas, the thing is, I don’t know anyone here and, uh, they’re all kind of… college-y. I’m just… I don’t really connect with these guys. They’re all smart, most of them are freaking law students, and I’m… I’m just a bartender with a GED and nothing important to my name.”

 

“I’m an artist.” Castiel says, because nothing in Dean’s comment explained why Dean keeps choosing Castiel over the rest of society. “We aren’t… we aren’t similar.”

 

“I guess not.” Dean stands up and Castiel’s panic mode comes back in full-force. Dean can’t leave; Castiel gets it, he sucks at society, but _Dean can’t leave_. Castiel _just_ got to the point where he can talk to Dean without stuttering, and he doesn’t want to have to wait another twenty-seven… twelve… ridiculously high number of years before another Dean happens. But then Dean turns back and looks at Castiel with the crooked grin that Castiel knows best and says, “we gonna get out of here or not, trench coat?”

 

“Yes.” Castiel nods, and stands up, shaking a bit. He nearly drops his sketchbook as he follows Dean out of the apartment and to the Impala, which is three blocks away from Rachel’s apartment. People give them odd looks, but Castiel just stares at their shoes and Dean just walks on confidently like he could care less about what people think of him on October thirty-first.

 

“Where do you wanna go?” Dean asks as Castiel slides into the passenger seat of the Impala. It’s only the second time Castiel’s been in the car, but it feels natural to be in here with Dean. For a vehicle to feel like it could be someone’s home is odd, but Castiel gets the sense that the Impala is that to Dean. Sure, Dean has an apartment, but that’s also Sam’s apartment. No one owns Dean’s baby but Dean. Castiel sets his sketchbook in the backseat and answers Dean’s question. “I don’t know.”

 

“Okay then.” Dean nods and pulls out of the spot, his music blasting again. It’s a different song. “We don’t really need a destination, anyway. I guess we’ll just drive until we find some place worth stopping.”

 

Castiel nods, and looks out the front window of the car. It’s dark, but the lights of the city are on and everything is splashed in reds and violets and golds, and the neon signs reflect off the hood of the Impala, ever-changing, as Dean drives them through the streets of New York. The outside of the car doesn’t match the inside; Dean is mouthing the words to the song that’s on, tapping his hands against the steering wheel as he maneuvres around the taxi cabs and pedestrians. They’re driving down a single street, not turning anywhere, and it reminds Castiel of when he first came to the city. Everything was big and bright, and Castiel thought he’d never be able to be a part of it. Even now, with a mildly successful art business, he still doesn’t feel like he’s part of the city yet.

 

“I haven’t gotten used to this place. How long did it take for you to get used to a place that never shuts up?” Dean asks, and turns down onto another street, this one less lit than the previous one. The song on the radio changes, it’s slower now. Dean starts singing, quietly, so that Castiel has a hard time hearing it over the music. Castiel leans towards Dean, to try and hear him better, because Dean isn’t really that bad when he’s trying, and Castiel doesn’t understand why Dean won’t sing louder. Dean pauses and looks over at Castiel and Castiel wonders how Dean hasn’t yet crashed the car; he’s spent half of his time driving looking at something other than the road. “Cas, you alright? I asked you a question.”

 

“I… yeah. I heard.” Castiel loosens the tie he’s wearing and unbuttons a button on his shirt, trying to get more comfortable in his costume. “It… it took a while… I still spend most of my time… at home.”

 

“I lived in Kansas before I came here with Sam. It’s really open in Kansas, kinda like there’s nothing there… and now, I just feel squished.” Dean turns again, and they’re heading back in the general direction of Rachel’s apartment. “Part of me wants to go back, not just to visit, but to stay, but… I can’t. I did something there that I’m not really proud of. I can’t fix it, and I don’t know… I don’t know what I’m doing half of the time, Cas. I’m just moving, or running or something, I guess.”

 

Dean drives in a way that Castiel can only describe as spontaneous. There is no pattern in where he goes. Castiel thinks that Dean’s driving patterns are similar to his personality, because Castiel can’t find a pattern for how Dean works, or how he drives. He’s kind of okay with that, though, not knowing what Dean’s next move will be. Castiel wishes he could get into Dean’s head sometimes, and figure out the man sitting beside him, but he knows that getting inside people’s heads is difficult for most people, especially those by the name of Castiel Milton. Everyone else seems to be able to get into Castiel’s head and figure him out, but Castiel lacks that rather useful ability.

 

“Where the hell are we?” Dean asks, bringing Castiel out of his thoughts. They aren’t in the city anymore, and they’re on a two lane road with trees on each side. Castiel doesn’t recognise anything. “I don’t know.”

 

“Wanna keep going, or stop?” Dean asks. Castiel feels like he and Dean are on the verge of having an impromptu road trip, and Castiel isn’t sure he’ll be able to survive that, so he tells Dean, “we can stop.”

 

“Alright.” Dean pulls the Impala over to the side of the road and turns the engine off. He leans forward, resting his arms on the dashboard. “I miss this.”

 

“What is… _this_?” Castiel leans forward as well, looking up at the sky. It’s a dark blue-black, the colour of Castiel’s favourite tie. Castiel glances over at his companion, who looks relaxed, his lips curling up slightly into a smile. Castiel keeps looking at Dean, because Dean looks younger now, more innocent and carefree than Castiel has ever seen him be before. It’s a different side of Dean that Castiel’s seeing here, and Castiel decides that this Dean, the one alone with him in the Impala, is his favourite. Sure, he likes the Dean that everyone else sees as well, but Castiel considers the current Dean in front of him to be his Dean. This is how Castiel is going to picture Dean whenever he thinks of the man.

 

“Stars.” Dean says, in response to a question that Castiel had forgotten he had even asked. “I know it sounds kinda dumb and cliché, but when Sam and I were kids, whenever things got bad we’d just sneak out of the house and go somewhere… maybe in the Impala, maybe we’d just walk, but we’d just go somewhere and just… _be_ , ya know? It was just me and Sammy, and all the shit we were dealing with just disappeared.”

 

Dean looks over at Castiel, who’s still staring. Castiel attempts a smile; it’s not as awkward as some other smiles he’s forced out, but he still feels like he’s wearing a mask. Dean continues. “We don’t do that in New York. Sam’s got law school, I’ve got my jobs, and we’re never really home together that much. There’s not a good place to escape to anymore… and it kind of sucks.”

 

“I… I was never close to my sister.” Castiel says. He doesn’t have family the way that Sam and Dean do. Sure, he has his blood relatives, but they’re the ones who kicked him out when he (well, it was actually Gabe who broke the news to Castiel’s parents, but Castiel was there when it happened) told them that he wasn’t going to go to medical school to become the surgeon they expected him to become. Castiel didn’t think that the Winchester brothers would ever abandon each other in the way that Castiel had been abandoned. He also didn’t think that Dean would force Sam to do something Sam didn’t want to or vice versa.

 

Castiel swallows and looks out of the car window. “I haven’t… I haven’t talked to my family in years. And… I don’t want to.”

 

“Family’s not just blood, Cas.” Dean says, and the dark glint in his eyes tells Cas that the man next to him has had to learn that for himself, and that it means a lot to be considered part of Dean’s family. “Family’s the people you’d go the extra day for, Cas. As obnoxious as he is, Gabe’s your family. I’ve seen what he does for you, and I’ve heard about the rest from Sam. You’ve got family, Cas, even if it’s not through blood.”

 

“Th-thank you.” Castiel has never really thought of Gabe as being his family. They’ve called each other brothers occasionally, but Castiel hadn’t considered that to be a familial thing. Castiel moves his glasses back up his nose. “Um… I… I guess you… are accurate. Gabriel… is like the brother I didn’t know I needed.”

 

“Yeah, just do us both a favour and refrain from telling him what you just said. His ego’s bad enough right now; he doesn’t need to know that you admitted you need him.” Dean gives Castiel a look that, under different circumstances, would be considered stern. But Castiel doesn’t think Dean would be too angry with Castiel if he told Gabe about the brother analogy (Castiel isn’t planning on telling Gabe in the first place, because he doesn’t want to be smothered by a very excited Gabriel Speight who has just been informed that someone is actually willing to admit that they wouldn’t mind being related to him), so Castiel decides that Dean’s expression isn’t the most serious one that the bartender has ever worn.

 

Castiel nods. “Okay.”

 

“Okay.” Dean says, and the two go back to looking outside at the sky. Castiel finds himself smiling; so far he’s survived a whole conversation with Dean Winchester, and he’s been talking like a (relatively) normal member of society for the whole time.

 

Castiel wonders if there’s a way to get to be around Dean more; spending time with the bartender is more enjoyable now that Castiel isn’t spluttering nonsense all the time. Castiel shifts his position, his blue eyes flicking over to Dean momentarily. _Dean’s good at talking to people… well, better than me, anyway, which really isn’t too hard to do_ , Castiel thinks to himself. _I wonder how he does that so well._ Castiel knows how to find out: ask Dean. So he opens his mouth, then closes it, thinking that Dean will thinks that Castiel’s question is stupid. Dean has his own personal Castiel too; Dean has a Castiel who can actually manage a conversation once in a while. Dean’s Castiel is just awkward, not a social failure. Castiel knows that Dean’s seen him in reality, he knows that Dean’s seen just how bad Castiel can be when it comes to human interaction, but he also knows that Dean still thinks of Castiel as someone who can deal with the world at least once a month.

 

Castiel likes Dean because of that. Castiel likes Dean because Dean doesn’t expect Castiel to be anything other than just Cas, and it’s relieving. Gabe wants Castiel to be his partner in crime for all his shenanigans (and some of the time, Castiel’s fine with that, but he still needs time to himself, to just relax). Castiel’s father wanted Castiel to put more effort into his academics and to lessen his interest in the arts and other “feminine” activities (because some of the greatest artists weren’t males, no, not at all). Castiel’s mother wanted Castiel to be more social (and he tried, he really did, but no one except Gabe seemed to want him around). And Castiel’s sister, Anna? She just wanted Castiel to be normal, and not the wide eyed dork in a trench coat that he was.

 

Dean wants Castiel to just be Cas. And Castiel can do that.

 

“Hey, Cas?” Dean asks, and Castiel whips his head up. Dean laughs, smiling again. “You’re amusing. But, I just remembered… at the art thing, I asked how long you’d been drawing and stuff, and you… you never answered. So, how long have you been doing this?”

 

“I… I’ve drawn since… since I was a k-kid. It… gave me something to do.” Castiel feels his face heating up as he talks. He always gets like this when people start asking about his artistic career. Castiel swallows again, his nervousness resurfacing momentarily. A thought enters his mind; it’s a way for him to see Dean more, and get some non-Gabe assistance with his commissions. Castiel clears his throat and glances away from Dean for a moment. “I… um… I have a h-hard time getting commissions—people—to draw…”

 

“Because of your awkwardness?” At least Dean doesn’t say “aversion to society” like most people use to classify Castiel’s anxiety. Castiel appreciates Dean for that, and he nods in answer to Dean’s question. Dean shakes his head. “Cas, man, you’re an art geek. You’re supposed to suck at talking to other people. Hell, I’m pretty sore that it’s part of the artist’s job description to be socially awkward! I mean, how many famous artists do you know that were popular while they were alive? Or… really weird or something.”

 

Castiel gives Dean a small smile, because he knows that Dean’s saying that to make Castiel feel better about himself. And the words work, because they sound true to Dean. Not truthful in a factual sense, but truthful in that they sound like Dean. So Castiel believes them. “I… could probably get more people if I could talk to them. It’s just… so awkward… with me. And them. And no one else.”

 

“I’d come with you.” Dean blurts out, and then both men are looking at each other like they aren’t sure if Dean really just said that. Dean swallows, laughs nervously. “Only if you want me to, of course. I’m not gonna intrude… I mean, I have work… a lot… but, uh, if you’ve got a thing, and I’m not, you know, working, I guess I could…”

 

“You’d do that?” Castiel tilts his head. Dean nods. He’ll do that, because Castiel’s his friend, and friends do stuff like that for each other. Castiel smiles, and this time, it’s neither awkward nor forced. “Thank you, Dean.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Dean go to visit some family members. Gabe is a little shit. Castiel is a loner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I've changed some tags, in case anyone wants to check. (Or I will once this chapter gets published)

It was a tradition, or it had at least become tradition, that Dean would pick Sam up from law school on the day before any major holiday and the two brothers would then drive from there to Ellen and Bobby’s house to celebrate, surviving the road trip on nothing but caffeine. They would have gotten more days off, but Dean couldn’t take any extra time off, and Sam had his own part time job to help pay for what his various scholarships didn’t cover. So, Dean didn’t push Sam to get out faster, and he didn’t make Sam drive for any part of the trip, for two reasons: one, the Impala was Dean’s car and only Dean’s, and two, if Sam wasn’t driving, then Sam could relax.

 

It was the Wednesday before Thanksgiving, and Dean was laid out on the front seats of the Impala, humming along to the Metallica song he was listening to, and waiting for Sam to get out of class. Their duffel bags were in the trunk, and Dean’s phone was on the dashboard, in case anyone needed to get in touch with him before he and Sam left town. Dean wasn’t expecting any calls, but there was nothing wrong with being overly prepared.

 

Sam tapped on the car window two songs later. Dean jerked upright and pulled his headphones off. He unlocked the Impala and moved over to allow Sam inside. Sam tossed his backpack and hoodie into the backseat, then slouched down in the passenger seat beside Dean. “I’m so ready for break.”

 

“Same.” Dean said, and pulled away. Sam turned down the music but didn’t try to change the station (he had learned long ago that changing Dean’s music was almost like asking to get the death penalty). They drove in silence, both brothers thinking about the two artists they had recently met. Dean’s mind was on Cas, and how much Cas’s childhood must have sucked with his whole family not understanding his anxiety or why he preferred being alone. From all that Dean knew about Cas (some information from Cas himself, but a lot from Gabe and/or Sam), Cas was one of the nicest guys around, with a dry sarcastic streak to kill for and an intense passion for committing to shit. Dean didn’t think Cas deserved to be afraid of people hurting him. No one deserved that.

 

“Do you think Jo’s gonna be home, or do you think she’ll be at her girlfriend’s place?” Sam asked as they crossed into Ohio. Jo was Bobby and Ellen’s biological daughter, and the three of them were practically family to Dean and Sam. They took the two Winchester brothers in when their father died, and Sam and Dean always celebrated holidays with the Singer-Harvelles. They were family; they just happened to have different last names.

 

Dean shrugged. “I dunno, but I hope she’s coming. Hope her girlfriend’ll be there too, because you and I still haven’t met this chick, and she’s gonna date Jo then she’s got to get our approval first.”

 

“Well aren’t you over-protective.” Sam rolled his eyes. Dean swatted his brother’s arm with one hand, grinning anyway. He was looking forward to this; even though going back to Kansas meant that Dean could run into Lisa (which was always awkward whenever it happened, and it was the last thing he needed right now), he hadn’t been lying to Cas when he said that he missed the openness of Kansas. Sure, New York was much more exciting, but even Dean needed a break from all the movement and excitement every once in a while.

 

Dean drove through most of the night, stopping twice to get coffee for himself and gas for the Impala. They drove into the salvage lot at dawn, and Dean parked the Impala in one of Bobby’s sheds. Dean cracked his back and stretched himself out after the nearly ten hour drive from New York to Kansas. Sam was semi-conscious next to him; Dean resisted the urge to do anything embarrassing to his brother, but instead just shoved Sam’s shoulder, jostling the younger Winchester out of his mildly unconscious state. “Sammy, it’s morning. Get up and get out of my baby.”

 

“I _am_ awake.” Sam grumbled. He twisted around to grab the stuff that he had previously thrown into the back, and stopped. He turned back to Dean, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Dean, why do you have a sketchbook in your car? You can’t draw.”

 

Dean didn’t know why he had a sketchbook in the back of his car either, so he grabbed the object in question and opened it up. He recognised the art immediately. _How’d Cas’s sketchbook get into my car?_ Dean though, then remembered that Cas had put the book in the backseat when they’d ditched the Halloween party. Dean looked sheepishly at his brother. “Dude, it’s Cas’s. He must have left it here after your friend’s Halloween party… Do you think he’ll be pissed that I’ve got it?”

 

Sam shrugged. “I don’t think so. You should probably let him know you’ve got it though.”

 

“I’ll do that.” Dean didn’t have a chance to text Cas then, because the front door to the house opened up and Bobby appeared, leaning against the door jam with his arms folded across his torso. “You boys gonna come in, or are you two plannin’ to stay outside all day?”

 

“We’re coming, Bobby.” Dean grabbed his bag, along with the sketchbook, and followed Sam into the house. Only the kitchen lights were on, which wasn’t surprising. Sam and Dean had a tendency to arrive at times when the rest of the Singers were still asleep.

 

Dean threw his things on the couch in the living room, then followed them down, using his duffel bag as a pillow. “Sam, I call the couch.”

 

“You’ve still got a room if you want it.” Bobby said and joined Sam and Dean in the living room. He handed a mug of coffee to Sam, who took it and thanked Bobby, but stayed in the doorway to the living room. “Is Jo here yet?”

 

“She and her girlfriend got here last night. They’re asleep upstairs but Jo’ll be up in about an hour.” Bobby looked around the corner to the stairs, as if he was expecting his blonde daughter to appear at any moment. “She’s got radar for the two of you; she’ll sense you’re here.”

 

“Okay, well, wake me up when Jo happens. I haven’t slept for… two days and I’m exhausted.” Dean said, then rolled over on the couch, away from his brother and his surrogate father. Dean supposed that his crashing on the couch was also a Singer family tradition; after driving all the way from New York, Dean always needed the sleep. This was especially true now, because he and Sam were going to have to interrogate the hell out of this Anna girl to make sure that she was alright for Jo.

 

Dean’s last thought before he fell asleep was that Cas had once said that he had a sister named Anna. _It would be odd if Cas’s sister was Jo’s girlfriend_ , he thought, and then sleep fell over him finally.

 

<<<<>>>> 

 

Dean woke up mid-air, as he tumbled down from the couch and onto the floor. He managed to get his hands out in time to catch himself and not become one with the carpet. He turned on his side and sat up, only to be faced with a grinning blonde woman. Dean grinned back at her. “Nice to know you’re still a little shit, Jo.”

 

“You know I wouldn’t do this to you if you actually slept in a bed like a regular person.” Jo said. Her hair was tied back, but tendrils of blonde waves had come out of her bun and were circling her face. There was also a grease stain on her chin. Jo leaned back, looking around to the front hall. “Sam’s been on his phone for almost an hour, pretty much since Dad and I have been outside working on Anna’s car. The thing has the shittiest transmission I’ve ever seen. I don’t know _how_ we managed to get from Maine without it breaking down in the middle of the road.”

 

Jo turned back to Dean. “But anyway, do you know who’s taken all of Sam’s attention recently?”

 

“Probably Gabe.” Dean shrugged, purposely not elaborating on Gabe in order to bother Jo. Much as the woman claimed to be above gossiping, she always had to know what was going on in the lives of her brothers. Dean, at least, did whatever he could to make her quest for information as difficult as possible. He’d be a bad older brother if he didn’t. Dean leaned forward. “ _So_. Anna. When do Sam and I get to meet her?”

 

“I could introduce the two of you now, _if_ …” Jo held up a finger in front of Dean. “If and only if you tell me who this Gabe guy is.”

 

“Ask Sam.” Dean said, because he wasn’t really sure _what_ Sam and Gabriel were calling themselves, nor did he know what Sam thought Sam and Gabriel were. He told Jo this, and she stood up, either to take his advice and ask Sam about Gabriel, or to go and get her girlfriend from wherever the mystery woman was hiding. Dean waited until she disappeared before he got up and went to listen in on Sam’s conversation. Dean was pretty sure that his brother was talking to the eccentric blond photographer, but Dean knew how to get a definitive answer: just listen in on Sam’s conversation without the taller Winchester noticing.

 

Unfortunately for Dean, Sam noticed Dean’s approach, and gave Dean a classic bitch face. He continued talking through the bitch face. “Dean just woke up… he’s standing right in front of me, Gabe… yeah, I’ll tell him.”

 

Sam lowered his phone from his face. “Gabe says hey, and to stop getting involved in relationships that don’t concern you.”

 

“Tell that to Jo.” Dean rolled his eyes. He heard two sets of footsteps and looked up the stairs to see Jo returning with a familiar looking red-head two steps behind her. There’s enough of an age difference between Dean and Jo that Dean was pretty sure that the red-head (Anna) wasn’t one of his previous flings. If she had been, that would definitely qualify for the Most Awkward Moment Ever Awards, hosted by none other than Dean Winchester. But, Dean still felt like he had seen this girl before. Maybe not the _exact_ version he was staring at now, but perhaps a younger version of her.

 

Then Dean remembered Castiel’s art show, and the picture Dean had tried to talk to Cas about. The one of Cas’s estranged younger sister. _This_ was the sister, this red-head dating Dean’s sister. Dean’s eyes widened. “You’re Cas’s sister, holy shit!”

 

“Cas has a sister?” Sam asked. He was apparently finished with his conversation with Gabriel, because his phone was no longer anywhere that Dean could see. Sam was looking at Dean, not Anna, to get confirmation for the previous statement.

 

“You two actually know my brother?” Anna folded her arms over her chest and raised a suspicious eyebrow. “Castiel doesn’t really talk to people. The last time I saw him, he still had only one friend, some crazy photographer guy named Gabriel Speight or something.”

 

“Yeah, that would be Cas.” Dean said, smiling despite himself. He had no idea why, but thinking about Cas just put him in a good mood. It was probably just the dark-haired artist’s awkwardness, and how he handled society with such little grace, but then again… Dean was usually really impatient with people who couldn’t get their social lives together. Dean was the type of guy who usually just blended into whatever social scene was in front of him to get what (or who) he wanted, usually accompanied by a charming smile and a flattering comment that made the recipient blush.  Cas didn’t do that. Cas stumbled through life grabbing onto Gabriel for somewhat unhelpful social support. Cas didn’t flirt, Cas didn’t really get sarcasm. Hell, Cas didn’t usually get anything that Dean dished out at him, and yet, for some reason Dean couldn’t define, Dean found himself looking forward to his next meeting with the eccentric artist.

 

“I feel like I’m missing something. Something big.” Jo interrupted Dean’s thoughts. “Who’s Cas, and Sam, who’s Gabe?”

 

“Gabe and I are dating.” Sam said. He was trying to not look too uncomfortable, but Dean (and most likely Jo, since she and Sam were childhood friends and she knew the Winchester brothers almost as well as they knew each other) could see that he was looking for a way out of the conversation. Sam ran a hand through his hair. “We’ve been dating since September, and… we actually met at one of Cas’s art showings. Gabe was getting candid shots of random people at the showing, he pissed a few people off, and I almost had to intervene a fight.”

 

“Okay, but what about Cas? What’s the deal with him?” Jo looked at Dean, then over her shoulder at Anna, as though she wasn’t sure which one would have the better story on Cas Milton. Anna’s would be longer (she’d known Cas longer, so it would make sense that she’d have more Cas facts to share with everyone), but Dean would like to think that his version of Cas would be a bit more personal. Cas had told Dean once that he and his sister had never been very close, and so Dean figured that even if Anna could rattle off more facts about Cas than him, Dean could give more in-depth information on the dark-haired artist. Dean wanted to think that he and Cas were pretty good friends, considering how short of a time they had known each other, and that he could tell stories about the guy. And if that didn’t make this whole situation sound like some kind of CIA interrogation, Dean didn’t know what would.

 

“Cas is my older brother.” Anna answered Jo’s question before Dean could do it.  “he ran away with Gabe… not in a romantic way, because Cas isn’t the type to fall in love with someone. He’s way too clueless to know what love would even look like.”

 

Sam let out a muffled snort when Anna said that. Jo and Dean looked over at him like he had suddenly grown a second head. Anna appeared unphased, and after a slight raise of her eyebrow, she continued. “Anyway. Cas ran off to New York City to become an artist. I guess he was successful, but I wouldn’t really know. He and I were never that close growing up, and it’s not like we parted on the best of terms either I haven’t talked to him in a while.”

 

“He’s a huge Doctor Who fan, like Sam, and he’s really, _really_ good at drawing. He drew me…” Dean paused. He reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out a receipt. The same receipt that Cas had used to sketch Dean on when they had met at Cas’s art showing a few months ago. Dean wasn’t sure why he kept the scrap piece of paper on him all the time, except that it was the only piece of Cas’s art he had, and it was the first thing Dean had ever seen Cas draw in real life. There was, of course, the infamous half-drawing of Dean’s face that resided on the corner of table four at the bar Dean worked at, but Dean couldn’t exactly steal a bar table and carry it around. So the receipt would have to do, at least for now. “He drew me on a receipt the second time we ever met, and he did it in Sharpie too, just out of nowhere, and it’s really fucking good. Cas’s always wearing this huge trench coat too, and it completely swamps him and makes him look way tinier than he is. He also has no taste in music. He’d never even heard of Led Zeppelin until I took him off to Laser Tag one time and I had Zeppelin playing in my car. So now every time we’re in the car together, I make sure to play Zeppelin at least once so that Cas can maybe learn what good music sounds like. He _seems_ to like it… well, he hasn’t ever complained about it, so I’m guess that means he likes it. Oh, and his mantra on life is probably ‘a picture’s worth a thousand words,’ and that’s why he’s so quiet all the time. I’m, uh, I’m also pretty sure he has some kind of photographic memory or something like that.”

 

By the time Dean had finished with this summary of Cas, Jo, Anna, and Sam were all staring at him. Dean awkwardly shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket. He swallowed and said, “What? When Cas actually talks, I tend to listen. He’s got some interesting stuff to say, you know.”

 

“Dean, you could write a book on this guy if you keep going at this rate.” Jo said, and Dean felt his face heat up. He really hadn’t meant to talk about Cas that much; it had all just sort of spilled out at once. Dean glanced over to his brother, hoping that Sam would have some sort of back-up intervention for the awkward situation Dean found himself in. Sam nodded in Dean’s direction and grabbed Jo’s arm. “Let’s go see if Ellen needs our help, kay? Dean and Anna can pass notes on Cas while we’re gone.”

 

“Okay, fine. But I’m getting details about you and Gabe.” Jo said, letting Sam drag her off. Dean laughed, and shouted after them, “No you don’t, Jo! Trust me!”

 

Then he turned back, and he was faced with Anna. Just Anna Milton, sister of Cas, and for a fleeting second Dean thought he understood just how terrified Cas felt around strangers. For a mere second, Dean understood (or thought he understood) Cas’s reasoning, but that second disappeared as quickly as any other, and the smirking, charming Dean Winchester everyone was used to returned. Dean cocked an eyebrow at the red-head in front of him. “So. About you and my sister. Anything you wanna tell me outright, or do I have to start digging right now?”

 

<<<<>>>> 

 

Meanwhile, Sam had dragged Jo out of the house and into the backyard, where it was quiet and he knew he could tell her about “Operation Make Dean and Cas a Thing” (named so by one Gabriel Speight, who had been rather insistent that their project needed a name). Sam had thought that the name was unnecessary (and vaguely creepy), but that wasn’t relevant at the moment. Sam still had to explain the whole Dean and Cas thing to Jo, whether it had a name or not. Jo had never met Cas, and knew nothing about the guy except for what Dean and Anna had just told her.

 

Sam was going to tell Gabe about Dean’s outburst later. It was progress on the Dean side of their equation, and that was good.

 

“Okay, Sam, why the hell are we out here? I thought we were going to go help mom.” Jo put her hands on her hips and stared up at Sam. Sam thought that Jo and Gabe would probably get along really well, whenever they ended up meeting each other in person. Later rather than sooner, considering just how rowdy one of the blondes could get on their own.

 

Sam ran a hand through his hair. “We will go help her out, but I just needed a plausible excuse to get  you away from Dean… and to tell you what Gabe and I were really talking about on the phone.”

 

“Whoa, hold on, are you two planning a murder or something?” Jo looked a bit too excited about the possibility of a murder scheme going on between her brother and his boyfriend. Not that Sam was the type to murder anyone (let alone draft out the details over a phone call that could be traced back to him), or let Jo in on it. Yes, he was somewhat of an asshole brother. He ran a hand through his hair. “No. No one’s dying, except maybe you, me, and Gabe if Dean ever finds out what we’re planning behind his back.”

 

“Which would be…?” Jo raised an eyebrow, growing impatient. Sam resisted the urge to draw his presentation out longer.

 

“Well, according to Gabe, Cas has a huge crush on Dean, and Gabe’s planning to get the two of them together eve if he causes the world to come to an end in the process. His words, not mine.” Sam paused to gauge Jo’s reaction. She seemed interested enough in the idea. Sam continued. “I’m a part of it because I think that Cas would be good for Dean and also because someone needs to be there to reign in some of Gabe’s crazy-ass ideas and Cas won’t do it himself.”

 

“So Cas knows that you and your boyfriend, who I have yet to meet and that needs to change soon, are trying to set him up on a date with Dean, the supposed King of Being Straight?” Jo laughed and shook her head. “I can’t tell if your taste in men is brilliant or horrible or kind of both.”

 

“If it makes you feel any better, I ask myself the same thing every day.” That was true. As much as Sam enjoyed being around Gabe, he found himself questioning his sanity quite frequently. Sam had a feeling that Gabe made everyone question their sanity though, so he wasn’t too worried about his mental state of being. He grabbed his phone and flipped it around in his hand. “I brought you out here to ask if you were interested in helping us with this, though. The more people we can get in on the plan, the better, you know?”

 

Jo tapped her bottom lip with the pad of her pointer finger, something she did whenever she was pretending to ponder deeply over a question with an obvious (in her eyes) answer.  “How well do you know Cas?”

 

“Well enough to know that this will pay off really well if it works.” Sam said. He glanced back at the house, noting that Dean and Anna were still talking. That was good, it meant that they were getting along well enough without anyone else there to corral them. Sam hadn’t been so sure that they would get along, what with Anna and Jo probably sleeping together and Dean and Anna’s differing opinions on Cas. Sam was, luckily, completely wrong. He turned back to his adoptive sister. “So, what’s your answer?”

 

“Yes.” Jo nodded vigorously, a grin spreading across her face. Sam saw a glimpse of Gabe in her in that moment, and mentally shuddered. One hyperactive blonde was enough for Sam Winchester, thank you very much. Two hyperactive crazies, working together, meant that Sam was ready to exit stage left at the first possible moment.

 

But, Gabe and Jo hadn’t actually met yet so everything was still fine. And they’d only be meeting to help Dean and Cas fall in love and become a thing. So Sam decided to just call up Gabe and inform him that there was a new member in their club. He unlocked his phone, but before he could type in Gabe’s number, Jo opened her mouth again, “Okay, but what about Anna? And Mom and Dad? We could totally get everyone involved in this… hell, we could start making bets about them, and when we think they’ll get together—”

 

“Jo, no.” Sam shook his head. “You’re channeling your inner Gabe right now, and that’s not a good thing. Besides, Cas and Dean are real people. We can’t just treat them like objects to be played with.”

 

“Alright, you’ve got a point.” Jo threw her hands up in surrender. She watched as Sam typed in Gabe’s number. “You’re calling Gabe, right?”

 

“I am.” Sam said, and then tapped the speaker phone button. He held the phone out between himself and Jo and said “and so are you” in between the rings. Sam waited for Gabe to answer before he said, “Hey Gabe, it’s Sam again.”

 

“Twice in one day. Someone’s missing me a lot.” Gabe said, laughter obvious in his voice, and Jo smirked beside Sam. Sam sent her what Dean would refer to as his bitch face (at one point, Sam had had a better name for those faces, but Dean had beaten the less-insulting phrase out of Sam’s vocabulary so that Sam had to give in and start referring to that particular expression as his bitch face) and then focused back on his conversation with Gabe. “I’m not calling for your benefit, Gabe. It’s about Cas, and Dean, and their not thing.”

 

“What about it?”

 

“He told me.” Jo said, swiping Sam’s phone out of his hands. Sam let out a startled “Hey!” and moved to grab the phone back from his pseudo-sister, but Jo ducked under his arms and spun away from his reach. She managed to do all of this while still talking to Gabe. “…and I think that it’ll be what Dean needs, since the son of a bitch hasn’t had any real kind of relationship since his thing with Lisa three-ish years ago,” Jo flashed Sam a wink in the middle of her rambling to Gabe, “and your boyfriend has given up trying to get his phone back. Guess he’s just too afraid to fight a girl.”

 

“Only because your parents are on the other side of that window and I know you’re armed somewhere.” Sam said, loud enough that Gabe would hear it. He wasn’t expecting Gabe to get freaked out by the fact that Jo carried a knife on her all the time, because Sam had thought far enough ahead to warn Gabe about his surrogate sister’s hyper-protective tendencies.

 

“Whoa, Samsquatch, is this the knife collecting sister you warned me about?” Gabe’s voice crackled through the speaker phone, and even though the quality was horrible, Sam could still hear the grin in Gabe’s voice. “Regardless, I want her on our squad. The more crazy, the better, right?”

 

“I like him.” Jo said. Sam walked over and snatched his phone back, raising it up above his head to keep her from taking it back again. “Of course you do.”

 

“Sam, my brother is attempting to hunt me down and drag me off to some event that I have no interest in attending.” Gabe said, and Sam realised that he could hear the wind in the background of the conversation, meaning that Gabe was outside as well. Gabe continued. “I’m currently on the roof of my own house, and it’s cold as fuck. If we’re still together when Christmas happens, I’m going to your house. I can only deal with Michael and Lucifer and this frozen wasteland once a year, maybe.”

 

“Okay Gabe.” Sam said at the same time that Jo said, “His brothers are named Michael and Lucifer, what the shit?” Sam nodded to Jo, continuing to talk to Gabe and deciding to explain Gabe’s siblings later. “You can spend Christmas with my not at all normal family if you want. And, don’t fall off the roof.”

 

“Don’t worry, I haven’t fallen off of a roof yet!” Gabe said, sounding proud of himself. “I’ve only jumped, and that was when I was seven and thought that I was Superman and could just fly off the thing. It worked, kind of. I only broke my leg.”

 

“That doesn’t surprise me.” Sam said, remembering one of his earlier memories. He had probably been three or four at the time, and Dean had been seven and fully intent on becoming Batman. That apparently included climbing onto the roof with Sam in tow and attempting to rappel down the side of the house.  Dean had almost made it the whole way down, too, but the rope had snapped and the older boy had fallen the five final feet to the ground, spraining both his wrists. So Gabe attempting to fly wasn’t that hard to imagine. “Just don’t break anything to important while I’m halfway across the country.”

 

“I won’t.” Gabe laughed. “Jesus, Sam, I’ve grown up somewhat since then. I know how gravity works now.”

 

In the background of the phone conversation, Sam could hear Gabe stand up and start walking around on the roof. He heard a voice (Sam suspected that it was one of Gabe’s older brothers) call out for Gabe, who was apparently still avoiding them because he said, “ha, the asshole didn’t even think to look up. Maybe I should just start tossing some snowballs down at him, see if he can figure it all out. You know, there’s already snow in Maine, but there isn’t any in New York. I called Cas, he said it was cold as fuck but there wasn’t any snow. How the hell is that fair?”

 

“Do you ever shut up?” Jo asked, because she could.

 

“Nope, you can blame Cas for that. He never talked, so someone had to do it.” There was a pause and a huff from Gabe as he threw the snowball down from off the roof. Gabe laughed, and then a second later he started swearing. “Shitshitshit _shit_ shit, Sam he’s throwing them back, fuck shitting _fuck_ —does this mothe— _crap_!—does he have a freaking snowball gun or— _fuck_ —something? Shit! What the _hell_?”

 

Both Sam and Jo laughed at that, and Sam called Gabe out on abusing his less than stellar karma. _That_ was why Sam liked the photographer. Gabe was the kind of guy who’d be almost thirty and still getting in snowball fights with his brothers while hiding from them on a roof. Gabe never really had to grow up, unlike Sam and Dean, who had pretty much raised themselves after their mother died and their younger brother got kidnapped. Gabe had the ability to bring out everyone’s inner child, and it was fantastic whenever it happened (although sometimes Gabe’s methods were questionable, they always worked and so Sam didn’t argue with them).

 

“Okay, Sam and knife-girl-whose-name-I-never-got, I am in the middle of World War Three, so I’m gonna have to hang up now. You two play nice and make sure Deano doesn’t do anything stupid, like, I dunno, get hitched, while Cas and I aren’t in the same state as him.” Gabe said, swore, and then the phone shut off. Jo raised an eyebrow at Sam who could only shrug in response. Just because he was dating the duy didn’t mean he could have an explanation for everything that Gabe did.

 

“What are you two doing out here?” Both Sam and Jo turned at the exact time to see Ellen in the doorway with an amused expression on her face. “Dean said you two were coming to find me and help me out, but apparently gossiping in the backyard is a better way to spend your time.”

 

“Mom, we weren’t _gossiping_ …” Jo started to say, but Ellen cut her off. “Joanna Beth Harvelle, don’t even play with me. You are the biggest gossip I know. Now, you two come back inside and help me get ready before I _really_ get pissed.”

 

Jo sighed. If she was still a teenager, Sam was sure she’d have rolled her eyes. “Yes, Mom.”

 

“Sam?”

 

“I’m on my way.” Sam pocketed his phone again and followed Jo back into the house. The two followed Ellen back into the kitchen, where she put them to work: Sam on the turkey and Jo on the mashed potatoes.

 

<<<<>>>> 

 

Castiel spent most of his holidays alone. He didn’t mind it, though. He would rather have been alone than be forced to spend time around people he didn’t know very well. His Thanksgiving was no different from any of the other holidays he spent alone in his apartment; Castiel didn’t even bother eating a special meal because it would only serve as a reminder that he wasn’t normal. He didn’t have anyone to spend holidays with (Gabe didn’t count, because Gabe had a family of his own and Castiel wasn’t going to be selfish and hold him back all the time). Castiel wanted to be normal sometimes, because everyone else expected him to be their definition of normal, whatever that was. And, as far as Castiel was aware, no one’s definition of normal included spending Thanksgiving day alone, curled up on a sofa, wearing a t-shirt, jeans, and a trench coat, sketching various faces and listening to a Led Zeppelin playlist on Spotify. The Led Zeppelin had been a last minute edition; Castiel didn’t always listen to music while he worked, but now that he knew what Dean enjoyed, he had decided to at least get familiar with the band so that he could talk to Dean about Led Zeppelin the next time they were around each other. So, Castiel had gotten out his laptop (Gabe had given it to him a few years ago with the intention of teaching Castiel how to use photoshop), opened up the internet, and searched for Led Zeppelin.

 

Castiel decided that, while the band was loud, he enjoyed their music. There was more variety between each song than there was in the hymns that Cas had grown up listening to as a child, and it was less obnoxious than the pop music that Gabe insisted on blaring at random hours of the day. Castiel had his suspicions that Gabe didn’t actually like the music he played around Castiel, and only played it to get on Castiel’s nerves. Or maybe Gabe really did enjoy hearing Ke$ha all the time. Who knew?

 

Castiel’s laptop let out a bing over the music he was playing, alerting the dark-haired artist that he had received an email. Castiel glanced at the large clock in his apartment, the one over the kitchen table that wasn’t actually used as an eating space. It was nearly eleven at night, meaning that the email was most likely from Gabe, or a spam email asking if Castiel was interested in a mail-order Russian bride. Castiel considered ignoring the message, but he knew from experience that ignoring messages from Gabriel Speight (whether email or text) was a bad decision. Gabe knew how to spam an inbox (and was probably the reason Castiel had about thirteen Russian brides waiting to be sent over), and Castiel didn’t want to deal with that again, so he set his sketchbook off to the side and switched tabs to his email. He was surprised by what he saw there: the message was from Dean, not Gabe. Castiel clicked on it and began to read.

 

_Hey, Cas_

_I got your email from sam who got it from gabe I guess. Anyway, I met your sister which was kinda awkward cuz she’s dating my friend jo._

_That’s not why I wanted to email you tho. I kinda wish you were here with me and sam and everyone. I wish you and your sister weren’t so distanced that you didn’t see each other over the holidays cuz that sucks balls man._

_I dunno._

_Sorry to bother you. You probably aren’t even reading anymore but yeah. I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m not much of a typing person. I like calls better but I know you’re shit at them so I thought I’d try this for you._

_Anyway I’ll see you Friday/Saturday maybe? Whenever I get back and am not fucking tired?_

_-dean_

 

Castiel stared at the message, reading it over and over again, trying to come up with something to say in response. What could he say that Dean would want to hear? _Hello, Dean. I got your email and I’m currently listening to the only band I know you like._ No, that made Castiel sound like some kind of crazy stalker. Castiel sighed and logged out of his email account. He switched back over to Led Zeppelin and pulled his sketchbook back out, flipping open to the most recent page.

 

Castiel wasn’t all that surprised when he covered the next two pages with various parts of Dean and nothing else. He was even less surprised when he fell asleep on the couch, Led Zeppelin still playing softly in the background.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm considering doing a sequel to this, or maybe some snippets from Cas and Dean that you won't see in the main story. If you're interested, leave a comment maybe?


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Winter hits New York City, finally, and Gabe and Sam gain a new ally in their attempts to get Castiel and Dean together. Castiel may or may not be considering burying his best friend in the snow, but that's nothing new.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this took forever to get out, and I'm really sorry about that. I'm not sorry that it's over 7000 words and (as of today) the longest chapter I have ever written ever. I wrote a 7000 word one-shot once but this is longer. 
> 
> I hope the length of this chapter makes up for the miniature hiatus I gave you guys.

Castiel was painting a portrait for a client and watching the snow fall down outside his apartment when he heard his door slam open. Castiel didn’t flinch at the noise; he suspected that, at this point in his life, he wouldn’t even blink if some psychopathic murderer came into his apartment to kill him. He would most likely just inform them of the state of his fridge, assuming that they were Gabe and were either at his apartment for food or for a companion. That was what Castiel did whenever Gabe crashed his apartment, and Gabe was the only person who actually came over. Except for Dean that one time.

 

“Oh, there you are, trench coat.” Gabe’s head appeared in the doorframe to what should have been Castiel’s second bedroom but was actually his official art studio. (His whole apartment was his work space, but he liked to pretend that he was an official and that the second bedroom was the real area for his creative endeavours.) Castiel set down his paintbrush and turned to look at Gabe properly. The dark-haired artist raised an eyebrow, silently asking his companion what he wanted here.  Gabe stepped into the room, clearly misinterpreting Castiel’s annoyance as permission, and looked at the half-finished portrait. “You’re a freak, you know. You shouldn’t be able to just recreate people without any kind of reference. You’re gonna put me out of a job like that, Cassie, and it’s not fucking fair.”

 

“Sorry?” Castiel said, missing Gabe’s insincerity (because Gabe has never been, and will never be, jealous of what Castiel can do), and still uncertain as to why Gabe was even in his apartment in the first place. Gabe did have a habit of breaking and entering without warning, but whenever he invaded a place, he always had a reason for doing so. Whether the reason was good or not depended on who you asked (though Gabe always thought it was good and generally Castiel thought it was bad).

 

Gabe pulled a candy cane from the pocket of his winter coat, unwrapped it, and stuck it in his mouth. He talked around it. “You _should_ be sorry… actually, no. Fuck that. Don’t be sorry. Instead, why don’t you just get the hell out of your house and go play in the snow like a proper, mature adult?”

 

“What?” Castiel wiped his paint-stained hands onto his jeans, adding a few more paint stains to the current pair. Castiel enjoyed winter over summer (he grew up in the cold of northern Maine, for God’s sake, he had to be at least _used_ to the cold by now), but that didn’t mean he went outside often. Going outside often meant dealing with other people. Dealing with people was something that Castiel Milton really did not enjoy doing unless he had someone to help him deal with the people. And even then, Castiel did not enjoy being around other people for an extended period of time. Gabe knew that, Gabe had always known that, so Castiel didn’t know why Gabe thought that anything about Castiel had changed. Castiel rolled the sleeves of his trench coat back down so that they covered most of his hands. “I don’t go outside.”

 

“Yeah, well, I’m changing that.” Gabe reached forward and grabbed Castiel’s elbow. “Why? Because I’ve got a snowball fight scheduled for today and you’re invited. Oh, and you aren’t going to be throwing snowballs _with_ me, you’ll be throwing them with Dean. Because I invited him to this adventure in adulthood as well.”

 

“I can’t throw.” Castiel said in a weak attempt to get out of Gabe’s “adventure in adulthood” as Gabe dragged Castiel across the hall and into Castiel’s actual bedroom. Gabe let go and ducked into Castiel’s closet. He started throwing out  sweaters and long-sleeved t-shirts, telling Castiel to put on something warm so that he didn’t freeze his ass off. Castiel picked up something warm-looking and blue and threw it on over the shirt he was already wearing. Gabe threw one final shirt towards Castiel’s head before he removed himself from his friend’s closet and sat himself down on the edge of Castiel’s bed. “You don’t have to throw if you don’t wanna. You can just let Dean be your knight in shining armour. Let him throw snowballs at Sam and me to protect you. Let him be the one valiantly defending your honour. Let him jump in fron—”

 

“Got it.” Castiel narrowed his eyes, aggressively ignoring the heat creeping up his cheeks. “I’m bad at doing anything but art.”

 

Gabriel rolled his eyes. Castiel knew that the photographer was about to go off on a tangent about all the things that Castiel was good at, none of which Castiel wanted to hear at the moment. So, Castiel shrugged his trench coat back on and trudged out of the room. His gloves were resting on the back of the couch, and so he grabbed them and put them on. He glanced back at Gabe, who was leaning against the doorframe to Castiel’s bedroom. Castiel narrowed his eyes at Gabe, but didn’t say anything else. Gabe pointed past Castiel to the laptop that was still sitting on Castiel’s coffee table. “You were on the internet?”

 

Castiel nodded. _Dean emailed me… I didn’t reply… I feel like I should have…_ Castiel swallowed, not looking at the offending electronic. _Gabe’s plan to get me and Dean together is never going to work. I can’t even become friends with this guy._ Castiel hung his head, then pulled it back up. He didn’t believe that Gabe could get him and Dean together, not yet, but he wasn’t going to just give up. He had to at least try. He was willing to leave his apartment and face society, if only so that he could be around Dean more. Castiel met Gabe’s golden stare. “Let’s go.”

 

“Okay… um, Sam said that they’re gonna be in Central Park, near that giant rock thing we shot fireworks off of last July.” Gabe said, then, as an afterthought, added, “The ones that weren’t legal. The ones that I got from Luc, that almost blew up in our faces and set my jacket on fire.”

 

“ _Those_.” Castiel narrowed his eyes again, and Gabe grinned, passing by Castiel and giving the taller man a wink and a nudge on the shoulder as he went by. Gabe exited the apartment without looking back over his shoulder to see if Castiel was actually following him out. Castiel was following him, because Castiel wanted to talk to Dean (that wasn’t normal for Castiel, who sometimes didn’t even want to talk to Gabe, let alone people he had only known for a matter of months), and because, well, he _did_ like snow. So he followed Gabe down the stairs (the elevator was broken again, just like it conveniently broke every winter), all the way to the basement level. Not street level, where they would have walked to the park themselves, but to the small parking garage that exited up a ramp to the street. Castiel tilted his head to the side in confusion, and Gabe waved him off. “Trust me on this. I know what I’m doing.”

 

“That’s why I don’t trust you.” Castiel grumbled as Gabe slid between two closely parked cars. The photographer glanced back over his shoulder. “Remember how you gave me the code for this place, so that I could still get in when you had that old doorman who hated my guts? I still have it, and I may or may not have shared it with our two favourite cowboys. And said cowboys may or may not be sitting in their car over there…”

 

Castiel followed the line of Gabe’s arm to where he was pointing, and immediately recognised Dean’s car. He could see the two brothers inside of it, Dean tapping the steering wheel and looking around, Sam just sitting patiently. When Dean made eye contact with Castiel, he stopped tapping and grinned at him. Castiel attempted to smile back. Gabe shook his head at Castiel’s continuing awkwardness. “Come on, Cas. Just walk over and get in the car.”

 

“Why are we driving?” Castiel asked. This was New York City; no one drove except dumb tourists and taxi drivers. Anyone who actually lived in New York knew that the streets were always clogged and that driving was only used as a last resort.

 

“Because Dean has attachment issues.” Gabe said as he opened the door and slid into the backseat behind Sam. Castiel swallowed and took the final few steps to the car. He gripped the door handle, but paused when he noticed that the three other occupants were all looking up at him. Castiel let go of the door handle and let his eyes move from Dean, to Sam, to Gabe, and then once again back to Dean. Dean rolled down the window. “Get in the car, Cas. She’s not gonna bite you.”

 

Castiel opened his mouth, then closed it. He opened the door and threw himself into the back seat of the car, staring at the lock on the inside of the door. He could feel his face heating up, and he was reminded again of why he never got into a cab with more than one occupant: too many people in a small, confined space. Too much talking going on, too high of a chance that the other occupant would try and talk to Castiel. At least with the subway, everyone was too focused on trying not to miss their stop that they wouldn’t consider talking to Castiel.

 

Dean started the car and they pulled out of the underground garage and into the streets. It was snowing, soft flakes floating down in a pattern as eccentric and unpredictable as the people walking down the streets. As Dean turned onto a new street, the one that would take them straight to Central Park, he turned up the volume of his music. Castiel’s eyes widened. He recognised the song from one of his many adventures into Led Zeppelin’s music. Castiel swallowed before he spoke. “Kashmir.”

 

“Um… polyester?” Gabe turned to stare at Castiel like something weird was in Castiel’s hair. “Are we doing categories of is this the Word Game?”

 

The Word Game was a game that Gabe and his father had accidentally made up one day when Gabe’s father had been driving Gabe and Castiel home from their high school’s art show. Gabe had been in his _I’m going to say random things to try and get reactions out of people_ phase then, and had blurted out some random word. Gabe’s father, apparently accustomed to Gabe’s new habit, had responded with his own random word. This pattern continued all the way back to Castiel’s house, with Castiel in the back seat occasionally trying to figure out what the pattern was between the different words. When Castiel had gotten out of the car, Gabe had smirked and told him that the pattern was that there wasn’t a pattern at all. From there on out, Gabe (and one of his non-Castiel friends) played the game in front of anyone who was willing to try and figure out the pattern, while Castiel usually stood in the corner and tried to act like he didn’t even know who Gabe was.

 

“Cas isn’t playing a game… Kashmir’s the name of the song.” Dean glanced back at Castiel and gave the artist a wink, and Castiel once again found himself wondering how they hadn’t yet crashed into anything. Dean turned his green gaze back to the road (thank God) and continued. “It’s a Zeppelin… Cas, have you been studying my music habits?”

 

Castiel was about to shake his head in a _no I’m not stalking your music preferences what on earth could you be talking about you silly noodle_ way, but then he noticed the upward curve of Dean’s lips. Dean was just messing with him. Liking Dean’s music was okay. Castiel nodded with relief. Sam groaned. “Oh great, Dean, you’re turning him into another you.”

 

“What’s so bad about having two Dean Winchesters?” Dean asked, still grinning like a (gorgeous) idiot. Gabe leaned forward, between the two brothers. “The level of ego would be suffocating us all by now. We wouldn’t be able to breathe because of all the chest puffing going on in this car.”

 

“Hey, I’m not _that_ bad.” Dean said, putting on a facial expression that Castiel decided to dub as a “rage pout.” As Dean pulled over next to the side walk, in a place that probably wasn’t the most legal (not that Castiel planned on saying anything), he sent a glare to Sam. “And another thing, my music isn’t that bad. It’s way fucking better than yours, at least.”

 

Dean got out of the car before Sam could even contemplate making a comeback, and Castiel got out with him, not wanting to stay in the car for longer than necessary. Castiel was done with small spaces and spaces with crowds of people. Castiel turned and watched Dean as the other man pulled on a leather jacket. Castiel decided that Dean looked very Dean-like standing there, pulling on gloves while he was leaned against the hood of his car, the back of his jacket collar flipped up to keep his neck from freezing in the cold and snow. Dean sensed Castiel watching him and looked over his shoulder, an easy grin on his face. “You ready, Cas?”

 

“I… of course.” Castiel nodded. He was ready for the upcoming snowball fight, which seemed really childish (but it was Gabe’s idea after all, and Gabe was just a tallish child), not so much for whatever Gabe had planned for _after_ the snowball fight. Castiel had noticed the scheming looks that Gabe and Sam had exchanged throughout the whole ride over. There was more to this than just an innocent snowball fight. There was always something more to an innocent act whenever Gabe was involved, and Castiel should have known. He should have known _better_.

 

The four men found a quieter portion of Central Park, and then paired off. They were each given five minutes to build a fort before Gabe finally got impatient and started to throw half-assed snowballs towards Castiel and Dean. Dean didn’t bother making the fort anything fancy or artistic; he just piled up snow into an elevated semicircle. Castiel had tried to help, but Dean had told him to just go and make a fuckton of snowballs (Dean’s exact words). When Dean yelled that he was done with the barricade, (Castiel didn’t think that their structure was architecturally sound enough to be considered an actual fort) Castiel came out from behind with armfuls of snowballs, and Dean’s reddened face broke out into a grin. He grabbed a few from Castiel before hustling them back both behind the shelter. Dean threw a few at Sam and Gabe and then fell back down into the snow, his jacket riding up awkwardly around his shoulders. He looked up at Castiel, his gorgeous green eyes contrasting wonderfully with the redness of his cold cheeks and the white of the fresh snow. “Cas, man, I’m sort about this. Sam and Gabe, they’re fucking brilliant over there. Gabe’s the crazy one, Sam knows what the fuck he’s doing… they’ve probably got a machine gun for snowballs or something. They’re gonna fucking kill us.”

 

“No they’re not.” Castiel shook his head. He didn’t actually know whether or not Gabe and Sam were going to “slam” them with this theoretical snowball machine gun, but he did know that Gabe had planned everything out already. Gabe knew what he was doing, not just with the snowball fight. Everything would go the way Gabe wanted it to go, snowball machine gun or no snowball machine gun.

 

“FIRE!” Castiel heard Gabe shout, and suddenly, the war began. Castiel grabbed a snowball, one in each hand, poked his head up over the barricade, and hurled the first snowball at Gabe’s head. Another snowball came back and hit Castiel’s face. Castiel didn’t even bother wiping off the cold snow, knowing doing so would be pointless. He just threw his other snowball and ducked back behind the barricade to grab two more snowballs. The snowballs continued, and Castiel lost track of how many he threw, and how many hit him. All he knew was that he was cold, and there was snow soaked into the sweater he had on under his trench coat. He took a few hits for Dean during the fighting, and Dean took a few for him, but it didn’t look like either side of the battle was even close to contemplating defeat. Castiel took a break in the onslaught of snow to push his damp hair out of his face. A well-aimed snowball hit Castiel in the shoulder, catching him off-guard and causing him to lose his balance a little. Dean reached out and grabbed Castiel’s arm. “Cas, you okay?”

 

Castiel didn’t have time to reply, so he just shoved off Dean’s arm and accepted the three snowballs that hit him in the face, successfully blocking them from hitting Dean. Dean hurled his snowballs in the general direction of Sam and Gabe, grinning victoriously as one of the two men on the opposing team let out a yelp of protest. Dean reached down into the pile and pulled out two more snowballs, handing one to Castiel and throwing the other one across the way. Dean yelled out, “you’re losing, _bitch_!”

 

“No I’m not, _jerk_!” Sam shouted back. Castiel watched as Gabe grabbed Sam’s sleeve and muttered something into the taller man’s ear. _They’re plotting something, and I’m guessing that it has something more to do with me and Dean than it does with the snowball fight that they have apparently put on pause._ Castiel thought. He narrowed his eyes, trying to read Gabe’s lips to figure out what his best friend was saying to Sam. Castiel couldn’t tell what Gabe was saying because Castiel was really bad at reading lips. All he could figure out was that, whatever Gabe and Sam had discussed, had gotten Gabe excited because Gabe’s hands were moving around wildly. Castiel turned his head towards Dean. Dean shrugged. Dean didn’t have a better idea of what was going on between those two over there, and Castiel was starting to think that maybe it was better if he didn’t know anything at all. Castiel didn’t think that it would matter if he figured out what Sam and Gabe were talking about, because Gabe would probably do it whether Castiel knew or not. He would probably do it whether it was legal or not, and if it wasn’t legal, the less Castiel knew about it beforehand, the better off he would be in the end.

 

Ignorance was a wonderful thing.

 

Eventually, though, Gabe stopped plotting with his boyfriend and turned so that he was facing Dean and Castiel, who were both looking at him as though they were expecting to get pummeled with snowballs or something worse. Gabe didn’t throw anything at them, though. “I’m bored, and we’re all too tough to get taken down by a couple of snowballs anyway… does anyone want some coffee?”

 

“What’s the catch, Gabe?” Dean asked him, and Castiel mentally patted Dean on the back for that. He was catching on. Castiel was proud of Dean for figuring out that if there is something where the brainpower involved Gabriel Speight at any time, then there was always some kind of catch or fine print that should be read before signing. That was how Gabe worked, and if one wanted to survive being around him, then they needed to know how to watch their ass. Because if they didn’t, then they were screwed. Gabe would mess with them until they either died or left the country of got smart and started expecting him to be a little shit any time he opened his mouth and spat out some kind of idea.

 

Of course, Gabe was smart, and he caught on that people were figuring his shenanigans out. So, he developed a habit that go him in and out of a lot of bad situations: straight-faced lying. Gabe grinned at Dean and Castiel. “There’s no catch. Except… the last person there has to pay for everything!”

 

And with that, he shoved Sam out of the way and sprinted into the snow-covered park. Castiel had to give Gabe some credit: he hadn’t seen that one coming. That didn’t mean that he wanted to let his friend win. Without even knowing where the final destination was, Castiel sprinted off after Gabe, with Sam and Dean right behind him. Castiel is not at all surprised when both of the Winchesters easily pass him. However, he is surprised when Dean sprints off in a different direction from where Sam and Gabe were headed. Deciding to go after Dean instead of Sam and Gabe, Castiel follows the man through the trees and out to the street. The two full grown men raced down the sidewalk, Castiel chasing Dean and ignoring all the strange looks that they are both getting, until they reached the Impala, which was right where Dean parked it earlier. Dean swung the driver’s side door open and jumped in, and Castiel had to call out to him so that Dean didn’t drive away before Castiel could catch up to him. “Dean! Wait!”

 

Dean stood back up and looked over his shoulder, his eyes widening in surprise when he saw Castiel skidding up to the other side of the car, grabbing the handle so that he didn’t just speed past it. “Cas? Cas! Hurry up, dude, they’re gonna beat us, and I don’t have shit on me right now.”

 

Castiel got in, and right as he slammed his door shut, Dean revved the engine and they sped off, Dean pulling right in front of a taxi cab. The driver honked at Dean, but Dean ignored him, telling Castiel to look out the window and start looking for either Sam or Gabe. Castiel did as he was told, but he didn’t see Dean’s brother or his best friend as Dean drove them throughout New York City. Castiel glanced over at Dean to see if the other man was watching the road or if his beautiful green eyes were somewhere else. Surprisingly, he was actually watching the other cars on the road. As Castiel continued to watch Dean (Sam and Gabe had been momentarily forgotten), the song changed to something fast and heavy. Dean started to tap his thumbs on the steering wheel, then his fingers joined in on the tapping, and then his whole hands were acting out the drum part. Soon enough, his whole body was into the music, and Castiel found himself mesmerized by all of the motion, all of the personality, of the man in the seat next to him. Dean seemed to be in his own little world, living and acting as though no one was watching him. Castiel wished for a moment that he could be as free as Dean was then. Then he wondered if Dean would still be in his own little world, not giving a fuck and a half about anyone around him, if he was aware that Castiel was watching his every move with complete fascination. _He probably wouldn’t._ Castiel thought to himself. _No one acts like they don’t have a fuck to give when there are people watching them. Not even Gabe, and he doesn’t have that many fucks to give._ Castiel continued his staring (he had a problem, really) for a few more moments before he looked back out the window. His eyes widened as he saw Sam (well, it was the back of Sam, but Castiel had already memorized what Sam looked like from all angles, so Castiel knew for certain that the tall man on the street was Dean’s younger brother) crossing the street in front of them. Castiel tapped Dean on the shoulder to get the other man’s attention, and pointed to the disappearing Winchester brother. “There.”

 

“You sure it’s Sam?” Dean asked, but he turned anyway. Castiel nodded; it was Sam, because the same tall figure from a few seconds ago was running up towards Gabe. Gabe had yet to notice the Impala pulling up behind his boyfriend, which Castiel counted as a good thing. Castiel didn’t know what exactly Dean was planning to do, but he knew that Dean had something in mind and he figured that it would work better if Sam and Gabe didn’t know what was going on. Dean shut off the music and the car’s headlights as they got closer, even though it was the middle of the afternoon and Gabe and Sam would be able to see the Impala whether it had headlights or not. Sam and Gabe were walking down the street, seeming to be in no rush to get to whichever coffee shop Gabe had meant when he laid down his challenge. Dean was watching Sam and Gabe, trying to figure out what they were saying to each other, and Castiel got the feeling that this wasn’t the first time that Dean had followed his brother somewhere to check up on him. Castiel guessed that it was one of the many “protective older brother” things that he had never participated in because he had never left his room unless he was going to school. There was that, and, as far as Castiel knew, Anna hadn’t had a boyfriend at all during the time that Castiel was living at home with his parents. Castiel had never had a reason to follow his younger sister to make sure that she wasn’t doing anything bad.

 

“Can you tell what they’re saying?” Dean asked Castiel. His focus was completely on the couple a few metres away from then. Castiel’s focus was, once again, completely on Dean. Castiel glanced over at Gabe, who was giving Sam directions. Castiel couldn’t read lips, he had never quite acquired that talent, but he had picked up on Gabe’s version of sign language over the past twelve years that they were friends. Castiel knew exactly where Sam and Gabe were planning to go and get coffee. He turned back to Dean, who was now watching Castiel very intently. For a moment, Castiel actually forgot how to speak, but he let out a small cough and figured it out again a second later. “East Street Coffeehouse.”

 

“I know where that is. Meg works there.” Dean said, before turning the headlights back on and roaring past Sam and Gabe. Dean looked back at the couple in the streets with a grin on his face. Before Castiel could tell him to turn back around so that he didn’t get himself and Castiel in a car accident, Dean did so. Dean’s eyes glanced quickly over at Castiel. “They are so paying for this coffee.”

 

“Okay.” Castiel dais, and then the two fell into a rather comfortable silence, which was nice because that meant that Castiel didn’t have to try and come up with something to say, nor did Castiel feel as though he needed to keep talking to keep the air between the two of them from getting awkward. He just let Dean drive until they pulled up in front of a snow-covered awning with the name of the coffee shop printed in a white script. Some of the letters had worn off, though, and a few more were peeling. Castiel got the feeling that this wasn’t the nicest of coffee shops. Through the closed doors of the car, as well as the closed doors of the shop itself, Castiel could smell coffee brewing. The scent only got stronger as he and Dean exited the Impala and went into the building.

 

The coffee house was small and dark, with only a few windows and yellow-hued lamps casting light onto the dark brown-black interior. The bar was in the middle, with the tiny tables and cylindrical black stools fanned out around it. Dean led Castiel over to a booth in the back corner of the coffee house; the dyed-black wooden table reflected the light coming down from the overhead light fixture, making the table seem lighter than it really was. Castiel slid into the booth, sitting next to Dean so that they were both facing the door, waiting for the other half of their group to show up.

 

They were both so focused on the door that they didn’t notice the blonde barista come over and perch her butt on the edge of their table, her notepad and pen poised to take their orders. They did notice, however, when she started to talk. “So, Deanie baby, who’s this pretty thing here?”

 

Castiel reacted first. He tensed up, his eyes locked on the woman in front of him and Dean. He had seen her once before, on the Subway that one time, when she had kept talking to him and asking him questions that Castiel couldn’t figure out how to answer. _Please don’t remember me_ , Castiel thought. _Please don’t bring up our last meeting in front of Dean…_

 

“Oh, this guy? His name is Cas, and he draws.” Again, Dean had a magical ability to under-explain people’s qualities. Not that Castiel minded it at all; he found it rather endearing. He would also much rather have this woman (what was her name again? Castiel couldn’t remember it) think that he just drew occasionally, for the fun of it, and not that he was a relatively well-known artist. Castiel was still staring at the woman, hoping for a name, or some other moniker besides “the woman from the subway that talked to me and freaked me out that one time.” He didn’t want to have to ask her for it, because he knew that he would somehow fuck that up, and he was hoping that Dean would continue the introduction so that Castiel would have a name for the woman about to take their orders.

 

“Cas, this is Meg. She’s supposed to be working, but apparently she thinks that pissing off potential customers is a better way to spend her time.” Dean waved his hand at the woman, as if Castiel wouldn’t be able to figure out who he was talking about if Dean hadn’t pointed Meg out. Castiel nodded, a shaky downward motion of his head.

 

Meg finally got up off the table and put a hand on her hip. The other hand hooked itself on the tie of her apron, which was a dusty blue colour that didn’t match anything else in the whole coffee shop, and Castiel couldn’t figure out why the workers all had them on. Meg shook her head at Dean. “Oh, please, I haven’t even tried anything on you, or your new pet, yet. Don’t make me out to be more of a monster than I already am, Dean Winchester.”

 

“That’s not easy for me to do, you know.” Dean replied, and Castiel couldn’t tell whether or not they meant any of the things they were saying to each other. Castiel decided to not dwell on the finer components of human socialisation, and instead focused his blue gaze on the other occupants of the coffee house. He didn’t recognise any of the other occupants; most of them were teenagers or college students, enjoying their weekend by holing themselves up in a dark coffee shop with free wifi. Castiel wondered why Gabe and Sam hadn’t yet shown up (they hadn’t been _too_ far apart from him and Dean), and then wondered if abandoning Castiel with Dean at the coffee shop had been the plan from the start. Castiel wouldn’t be that surprised if he hadn’t seen Gabe signing about this place earlier. Gabe couldn’t have known that Castiel and Dean were watching him then, because Gabe had a pretty clear tell for that kind of thing, and besides, Gabe wasn’t the most observant person in the world when he was in the middle of something he found interesting. That was why he always tried to work with a partner whenever he did something mildly (or severely) illegal: he needed someone who had a moral compass and was worried about getting caught to make sure that no one was watching him. Unless, of course, Gabe actually wanted people to see what he was doing, and then he just dragged along a wingman for the fun of it.

 

“Hey, Cas, you still with me?” Dean put his hand on Castiel’s shoulder, shaking him. Castiel whipped his head around to meet Dean’s (and Meg’s, because she was still standing there, twirling her pen around like this was the least interesting thing she had ever done in her life) gaze. Meg raised an eyebrow at the two of them, but Dean didn’t react to suddenly having Castiel’s undivided attention. He just asked if Castiel wanted to get coffee while they waited for Sam and Gabe to arrive. Castiel nodded, knowing that Dean wouldn’t order him some ridiculously hard to pronounce coffee contraption, and just a plain black coffee. Dean winked at Castiel and then said to Meg, “Cas’ll have a black coffee, and I’ll take one of your best Irish Mochaccinos with three and a half squirts of hazelnut, please. And no whip cream.”

 

“I’m not a professional, Dean, I just carry cups.” Meg said, rolling her eyes but writing down the orders and disappearing to go get the two coffees anyway. Dean turned his full attention back to Castiel once she was gone, a little half smile on his face. The one that meant that he wasn’t sure whether or not Castiel was comfortable where he was, but he was willing to go somewhere else if it would make Castiel feel more comfortable. Castiel appreciated that Dean was willing to do that, but Castiel didn’t want to ruin Dean’s day. Dean licked his lower lip, green eyes locked on Castiel’s blue ones. “Well, that’s Meg. You either love her, or you wanna punch her in the throat… and sometimes you’ll wanna do both of them at the same time.”

 

“Just like Gabe.” Castiel said. He looked around the building again, thinking that maybe Gabe and Sam had snuck in through the back door and were sitting off at another table. Castiel knew that he would be able to recognise Gabe even if the only thing he could see was Gabe’s foot. When Castiel was around someone for long enough, he was able to recognise any part of them. Unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on how he looked at it), Castiel only had four people that he had completely memorized: Gabe, his own parents, and his younger sister, Anna.

 

“Speaking of Gabe, where the hell is he?” Dean leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table and looking past Castiel at though he could just make Sam and Gabe appear out of thin air. “We weren’t that far from here when we saw them… Cas, are you _sure_ you heard Gabe right about where they were gonna go?”

 

“Yes. I know Gabe.” Castiel said. That roughly translated into _Dean, this assbutt I call my best friend and your brother are probably somewhere else, laughing at us because they fucking set us up on a date-not-date at a fucking coffee shop_. Castiel didn’t say any of that out loud, because that would mean that he had quite the crush on Dean and that Dean’s brother was in on Gabe’s ridiculous plan. Castiel had a feeling that Dean wouldn’t want to hear either of those things from Castiel. Castiel was pretty sure that Dean didn’t like him back, because if Dean did have feelings for Castiel, then Gabe would have sensed it and Gabe would be flipping off the walls, literally. And as of the last time Castiel saw his best friend, Gabe was still abiding by the laws of physics.

 

“If you know Gabe so well, then how come he isn’t here yet? And don’t tell me that that son of a bitch dragged my brother off to do things with him.” Dean’s face turned sour at the end of that sentence, as though it was the most vulgar phrase to ever come out of his mouth and he hated himself for even thinking about saying it. Castiel didn’t have a response to Dean’s question; the last thing he wanted to be discussing (or thinking about, for that matter) was Gabe doing things with, well, anyone. Because it was Gabe, and Castiel would really prefer not to have his mind be tainted with his best friend, his _only_ friend until Dean and Sam appeared in his life, doing things with people. Castiel also didn’t like thinking about doing things with people, but he supposed that that was partially because he had never done things with anyone. Well, that was what his sister had told him that one time he had actually tried to talk to her. Gabe had said that there was nothing wrong with not wanting to do things with people, but Castiel was pretty sure that Gabe had been in the middle of fucking someone else when he said that, because there was panting and a moan coming from the other end of the phone, and Gabe had sounded out of breath for that whole phone conversation.

 

Castiel’s thoughts were not being helpful. He glanced past Dean, to the door, and then back at Dean again. “I don’t think so.”

 

“I’m calling Sam.” Dean said, yanking his phone out and dialing Sam’s number. It was no surprise that Sam was the most recent contact that Dean had called. Sam was Dean’s family, after all, and Dean cared about his family.

 

“ _Dean?”_

 

“Sam.” Dean answered, his voice somewhere between concerned and paranoid older brother. Castiel really hoped that Sam and Gabe had ditched them to do something innocent, instead of things that Castiel had no interest in doing. He didn’t want to see what Dean would do if Gabe was doing things with Sam.

 

 _“Dean, don’t panic.”_ Sam said, and Castiel could faintly hear Gabe in the background saying _“oh yeah, that’s really gonna help him stay calm.”_ Sam sighed, static taking over the phone for a moment, and Castiel imagined Sam pulling a bitch face on Gabe. _“Gabe, shut up. Anyway, Dean, the subway is being a jerk and we’re stuck in a tunnel because of ice or something, and it’s as hot as the seventh circle of hell here. So… we probably aren’t going to make it there, but, uh, the place was—”_

 

“—East Street Coffee House. We know.” Dean said. “Cas and I have been here for a while… Cas saw you and Gabe talking about the place, so we drove over. When you didn’t show, I called.”

 

 _“I’m fine, Dean. We’re both fine. We’re just irritated and over-heated.”_ Sam said, and the two brothers hung up their phones on each other. Dean looked over at Castiel with a _what the fuck are we doing with our lives, Cas_ smile-thing on his face. Castiel didn’t know why, but he didn’t like that smile on Dean’s face. It didn’t look right. It made the man beside him look… _lost_ was the best way Castiel could find to put it, but that wasn’t exactly what he was trying to say. Dissatisfied, maybe? Yes, dissatisfied was a more accurate description of the awkward smile-thing that Dean had just given Castiel. And Castiel didn’t like it because he didn’t want Dean to be dissatisfied with his life. Castiel wanted Dean to be happy, to be the Dean Castiel had seen in the Impala on Halloween night, and the one at the Laser Tag place. He wanted Dean to be happy, and to dance to his music whether he was being watched or not.

 

“Hey, Deanie Baby! Come get your coffee; I’m not your personal bitch!” Castiel thanked God for Meg, which wasn’t something he had ever thought that he would do. He hadn’t expected to thank _anyone_ for Meg, let alone God, considering the few experiences he had had with her. He was thanking God for Meg because when she called out for Dean, she got rid of the sadness that had started to come over Dean. Castiel’s Dean was back again. Castiel’s Dean, unfortunately, seemed to think that sending Castiel for the coffee was a good idea. Castiel thought otherwise, and tried to protest (meaning he refused to move when Dean told him to get up and get the damn coffee), but in the end, Dean won by using physical force and gently shoving Castiel out of the booth so that he couldn’t just crawl back in and make Dean do it instead. Castiel stumbled up to the counter, wary of making eye contact with anyone else in the coffee shop. He finally got over to Meg, who laughed at him. “Aren’t you two just the cutest.”

 

Castiel looked up at her and repressed the urge to slap his hand across her mouth to keep her from saying anything else. Meg laughed again, and Castiel regretted thanking God for her existence. She shook her head. “No need to panic, Cassie. The moose and his boy told me all about your little crush. I’m in on the plan… and I think you’ve got a good shot at getting Dean to go bi for you. My bet is that he’ll be fawning over you by Christmas.”

 

“Wh-what?” Castiel gripped the countertop and looked over at Dean, who didn’t even seem to have noticed what Meg had said. Castiel turned back to Meg, opened his mouth, and then shut it again. He grabbed the two coffees and turned to leave. Meg reached out over the counter and grabbed Castiel by the collar of his trench coat. “I’m not done with you, Cassie.”

 

“What now?” Castiel glanced at Dean again, who was watching the two with a confused look on his face. Castiel wasn’t sure what Dean was thinking, but he would rather be asking Dean what was going on in his mind than be over at the counter with Meg digging her manicured nails into his trench coat and holding him back like he was her pet or something. Castiel sighed and turned back around to face Meg, giving her the fiercest glare he could muster up. “What?”

 

“Gabriel has a message for you.” She whispered, smirking again. She seemed to be enjoying this little game of “make Castiel uncomfortable by keeping him away from Dean for as long as possible.” Meg rested her head in her palm as she delivered the message to Castiel. “He says that while they _are_ really stuck in a subway, they had planned on getting you two to go to one place and then going to a different one. Obviously, that didn’t go the way that it should have, but I guess you can still enjoy your thing with Dean.”

 

The two stared at each other for a few minutes. Castiel watched as Meg’s hair started to fall forward into her face. Meg’s eyebrow went up and that strand of her hair immediately fell the rest of the way down, covering one of her eyes. She didn’t do anything about it, though. “Cas. Go. Enjoy your thing _with Dean_.”

 

“Oh, yeah. Thing.” Castiel nodded and his face heated up as he practically sprinted away from Meg and back to Dean, his eyes on the cups of coffee and not the people around him. When he sat back down and handed Dean his frothy drink, Dean didn’t ask him any questions about Meg. Castiel knew he wanted to, though, because his perfect, pure green eyes were boring holes into Castiel’s face. Dean had to want to know what the hell that whole thing was about, but Castiel wouldn’t be able to help him with that, because Castiel wasn’t exactly sure what had just transpired with him and Meg. Castiel was just trying to calmly drink his coffee without bringing any unnecessary attention to himself. Castiel really wished that he hadn’t missed the “how to live without making yourself an assbutt” class in school. Perhaps it had been a course in college that he had missed because he had had to drop out for his own health. That would be unfortunate, but it wouldn’t explain how Dean had managed to get his social skills. Dean hadn’t even gone to college.

 

“Holy shit, Cas.” Dean said, yanking Castiel out of his musings. The two men turned to look at each other, Castiel secretly hoping that Dean’s outburst had nothing to do with him figuring out that Gabe (and Sam, to some extent) had set them up on a date of sorts. It wasn’t because of that, and so when Dean started talking, Castiel’s panic receded. “Cas, it’s almost Christmas. What the hell happened? When the hell did we get to fucking Christmas season?”

 

“I don’t know, Dean.” Castiel shrugged, thinking _That’s it, that’s our conversation, talking time over._ Again, he was wrong. Castiel was wrong about a lot of things, especially things that involved dealing with humans, even more so when those humans were named Dean Winchester. Dean had another question for Castiel, though. “Are you… do you have any plans for Christmas?”

 

“No.” Castiel said. That should have been obvious. Castiel never did anything for the holidays, unless Gabe forced him to. Holidays for Castiel just meant more human interaction, and Castiel would rather not have any of that unless absolutely necessary. For Dean, though, Castiel was considering making an exception. It depended on what Dean was offering, if he was offering anything in the first place.

 

“Well, uh, do you wanna come to Kansas with me and Sam?” Dean asked Castiel, looking like a kid who was hoping to get some candy. Or, Dean at least looked like _Gabe_ when he wanted some candy. Gabe was close enough to being a real child. Castiel considered him a reasonable example.

 

Castiel’s answer to Dean’s question was also obvious, because Castiel couldn’t say no to Dean, not when Dean looked so earnest about it all. Castiel nodded. “Yes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: Christmas. And this story is looking more and more like a cute little RomCom the further I get into it. I hope you guys don't mind.
> 
> I might do a sequel that's darker and more serious, depending on what kind, if any, feedback I get from this story.
> 
> I definitely want to do a prequel with Gabe and Castiel, because I like their friendship in this story and because there are some things they did as children that I think you people might enjoy reading about.
> 
> Basically, let me know your thoughts in the comments. :)


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel and Gabe spend Christmas with the Winchesters. Castiel has a family reunion. Gabe and Jo finally get the results they were looking for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! And now I know how many more chapters there will be for this! I would like to apologise for the lack of updating on this story and in general, because I started college a few weeks ago and I also got back into video making. I'm not going to be abandoning anything on here, but there will be less frequent updates overall.
> 
> So this whole once a month thing is going to be normal for the next five chapters, basically.

December 24th, Castiel found himself in the front seat of the Impala, driving through a ridiculous snowstorm that seemed to cover the whole country. Dean had been driving for three hours already, and snow had been falling the whole time. Sam and Gabe were in the back seats of the car (Dean had found it surprising that Sam wasn’t complaining about being cast to the back). Gabe was half leaning on Sam, watching Castiel with a knowing little smirk on his face. Castiel knew why it was there, of course. It was there because _Castiel_ was the one sitting in the front seat with Dean. And Dean had been the one to ask if Castiel wanted to be in the front seat of the car. There had been no reason for Dean’s question; apparently Dean just wanted to be next to Castiel for the duration of their road trip half way across the American countryside.

 

Castiel stayed awake for about half of the trip. He drifted off and on; every time he woke up, there was a new song coming from Dean’s radio. It snowed the whole time, and so when they pulled into the salvage lot beside Bobby and Ellen’s house, everything was painted over with two inches of white powder. Castiel found it beautiful, a nice juxtaposition of old and new, of soft and hard, of cleanliness and dirt. Castiel rose from the car, not truly feeling his surroundings as his boots crunched through the snow, his blue eyes taking in the snow-covered cars all around him. He understood what Dean had meant about all the space: there was so much room here, so much land to just exist in. They were in the middle of nowhere, and yet Castiel felt that he was in the centre of _something_. Someone’s something. Dean’s something. Other than the Impala, this was Dean’s home. This was where Dean’s family was, and _holy mother of pie_ , Castiel could _feel_ it.

 

And if that didn’t make Castiel sound like some kind of artsy hippie high on weed, then Castiel didn’t think anything could.

 

“Welcome home, Cas.” Dean walked up and clapped his hand on Castiel’s shoulder. His eyes were on the street they had just come off of. _It’s like he’s expecting someone to show up._ Castiel thought. _And also his hand is still on my shoulder. I feel like this whole hand-on-shoulder thing is becoming a habit… I don’t really mind it._ Castiel didn’t do anything to remove Dean’s hand, but he did notice the look that Sam gave him as Sam and Gabe walked up to the front door. It was a look that said that Castiel was doing the mating ritual correctly. And then Castiel froze (figuratively, Castiel isn’t cold yet) because he realised that Sam had just approved a _mating ritual_. A _mating ritual_ that Castiel was attempting to use on _Dean_. Castiel wasn’t sure how comfortable he was with that idea. He didn’t want to _mate_ with Dean. He just liked Dean.

 

“Time to go inside, Cas. Enough mentally drawing whatever it is you’re mentally drawing.” Dean’s hand fell off of Castiel’s shoulder and pushed Castiel forward, lightly. The two men walked up and entered the house, Castiel facing a stare-down from a brunette woman that he supposed was Ellen. She shut the door behind Dean, and pulled Castiel back. Castiel stared at her, and then at Dean, who was casually leaned against the stairs, looking up at the floor above them. He looked like he was waiting for someone to appear, and he looked like he was secretly hoping that they wouldn’t appear. Castiel didn’t like that. He wanted to ask Dean who (or what) he was waiting on, but he couldn’t speak with Ellen standing there and staring him down. Ellen put her hands on her hips. “Dean told me that you know Gabe better than anyone else here. Is there anything I oughta know about that boy before I let him loose on Sam?”

 

 _I can think of a few things about Gabe that might make you or your husband—or even Dean—want to bring out their guns and point them towards my best friend._ Castiel thought, but he didn’t say that out loud. He knew that all of those reasons, as crazy and reckless as they seemed, wouldn’t get anyone Gabe cared about in trouble. Or hurt. Gabe knew what he was doing most of the time. So Castiel looked at Dean, looked at Dean’s shoes, looked at Ellen’s shoes, looked up at Ellen, and then spoke. “He… he’s different.”

 

“Well, I already figured that much out.” Ellen said. Castiel expected her to say something more to him, to interrogate him further, but she instead she turned away from him and addressed Dean. “Dean, stop waiting for Jo to show her mug. You go up there and show Castiel your room, then see what’s taking those girls so long with wrapping the presents up.”

 

“Alright, come on Cas. Time to meet my sister.” Dean beckoned Castiel, who followed Dean up the stairs. The hallway was dark, save for a light filtering in from under a door. Dean glanced at it but didn’t touch it. Instead he and Castiel continued down the hallway to the door at the end. Dean opened that one. He turned on the light, bathing the room in a soft yellow light. Castiel took a look around. He could tell that this room had been Dean’s when Dean was a teenager, but he could also tell that Dean hadn’t inhabited it recently. The room looked like it was from the late nineties, and there was some dust collecting on the furniture. Castiel walked over to where Dean’s old vinyl’s were leaned against a record player. He ran his fingers across the tops of the record covers. “This… is yours?”

 

“Yeah, kind of. I don’t really come here often. I mean, I should, but I don’t… does that make me a bad person?” Dean looked at Castiel, and in a split second, Castiel was able to see the vulnerable side of Dean Winchester. He saw the boy who had been forced to raise his two younger brothers, only to lose one of them. He saw a man who had never gotten the childhood he deserved, and now was afraid of becoming an adult. Castiel saw someone who had given up everything and received very little in return for his efforts. But that vulnerability was gone as soon as Castiel registered it. Dean shoved his hands deeper into the pockets of his jeans. “Because I’m not, Cas. I’m not a bad person. I just… I’m staying in New York with Sam because he needs me. He’s my _brother_ , y’know? I’m supposed to have his back.”

 

Castiel didn’t know what to say. He was pretty sure that anything he said would be taken the wrong way, or that Dean wouldn’t see Castiel’s words as sincere. And how could they be? Castiel hadn’t gone through _anything_ close to what Dean had to grow up with. So Castiel just walked back over to Dean and put his hand on Dean’s shoulder, the same way that Dean had done with Castiel minutes before. Castiel didn’t say anything, but he hoped that the gesture would be enough.

 

“Thanks, Cas.” Dean said, forcing a smile again. “You’re a… well, you don’t judge people. And that’s nice, because most guys are all judgmental and shit, but you’re not. I dunno why, and I’m not gonna bother asking, cuz it doesn’t really matter… to me at least.”

 

“Thank you.” Castiel said, because he wasn’t sure what else to say… he was somewhere between flattered and giddy that Dean was willing to just talk with him. Because, from what Castiel had heard from Gabe, Dean didn’t just _talk_ with people. Sure, he would say stuff all the time, but it never meant anything. There was never any substance. But then, at that moment in Dean’s old room in a house in Kansas, surrounded by Dean’s old stuff and old memories, Dean was actually talking to Castiel about the deep shit. And it was both terrifying and fascinating. Terrifying, because Castiel had limited experience with normal small talk and almost _no_ experience with deep shit. Fascinating because, of all the people Dean could have chosen to open up to, he chose Castiel. That had to mean something, though Castiel wasn’t sure what.

 

“Yeah, no problem…” Dean seemed half there, as though he was retreating back into his own mind. Castiel didn’t know why Dean would be retreating into his head. Castiel leaned forward, his hand still on Dean’s shoulder, and tilted his head slightly, the way he did whenever he wasn’t sure as to what was going on. Dean watched him the whole time, his green eyes wide and his lips parted slightly. _He looks terrified._ Castiel thought. _No, not terrified… just nervous, the way I am when I’m around too many people. But why is he nervous?_ Castiel tilted his head further. “Dean?”

 

“Cas.” Dean breathed. Literally. As in, Castiel had no idea if Dean actually said his name or if he just had a weird breathing pattern for a moment there. Castiel wasn’t sure which one it was, but he was hoping that it was the former and not the latter. Castiel had issues with people who had strange breathing problems. As in, he wasn’t able to go asleep around someone who breathed differently from him, and he had to match how he breathed to the other person—or people—in the room with him. It had been an issue in college, before Castiel had dropped out. Castiel knew that it was a really weird problem to have; Gabe had told Castiel so back when they were both younger struggling artists living in a one room apartment. The one bedroom had been turned into Gabe’s personal darkroom, and Castiel had had to sleep in there just so that Gabe’s breathing wasn’t an issue.

 

Castiel was getting side tracked. The reason that Dean’s breathing abilities were in question in the first place was because there was a mattress with some blankets on it next to Dean’s bed, and judging by Sam and Gabe’s status of dating, Castiel figured that the spare matress was meant for him.

 

“Cas.” Dean said, and then cleared his throat. “Uh… yeah, so, you…” Dean pointed at Castiel, who let go of Dean’s shoulder, “you’re gonna… you get the… the mattress.”

 

“Do you breathe weird in your sleep?” Castiel blurted out, because he wanted to know and if he was going to continue to interact with Dean on a regular basis, then Castiel needed to know how Dean breathed in his sleep. Castiel couldn’t deal with sleeping in the same room as Dean if Dean didn’t breathe correctly… and why the fuck was that even a concern? _Breathing patterns? Really, Castiel?_ Castiel needed to sort his priorities out, which he did. He was being ridiculous.

 

“What?”

 

“Nevermind.” Castiel shook his head. He could overcome his breathing pattern problems for Dean. Because people like Dean didn’t just happen to people like Castiel. Reclusive artists with only one friend didn’t just stumble upon beautiful bartenders with galaxies of freckles on their faces and eyes so green they looked like a field in Ireland. And those beautiful bartenders didn’t accept the reclusive artists for all their little quirks. Dean was an anomaly in the universe, a man who could look at Castiel and all Castiel’s weird issues and not find something wrong with them. Dean took Castiel as he was, with no expectations for change, and so Castiel would take Dean as he was, with no expectations for change.

 

Dean nodded, slowly. “Okay… um… do you wanna go… see if Jo and, uh, her friend are _done_ in there?”

 

Dean pointed into the hall, towards where the door with the light coming out from under it was. Where Jo, Dean’s surrogate sister, was. Where Jo’s “friend”… of course. That was no friend. Castiel looked over his shoulder, away from Dean and towards where Jo and her not-friend were probably having sex, but definitely not wrapping presents. And Dean didn’t want to witness any of it. That, Castiel understood. What he didn’t understand, and what was pissing him off a little, was that Dean seemed to think that Castiel was an innocent little flower child who had no idea what sex was. Dean was wrong. Castiel was friends with Gabe. Castiel was well aware of what sex was, even though he couldn’t see himself ever having it with anyone. So, Castiel turned back to Dean and narrowed his eyes. “Sex, Dean.”

 

“ _What_.” Again, Dean looked nervous and uncomfortable. Again, Castiel had no idea why. Castiel didn’t like it, at all. He didn’t like being confused, or Dean being uncomfortable. Castiel didn’t know how to deal with that kind of thing. He was too used to being the uncomfortable one.

 

“ _Sex._ ” Castiel repeated. Dean only looked more panicked. Castiel pointed at the door with the light coming out from under it, telling Dean that _the sex was in there_ and Castiel _knew it_. Dean relaxed after that, nodded and let out something that was supposed to be a laugh. It was too forced to be real, and even Castiel could figure that out. “Yeah, them… uh, so I guess we shouldn’t see what’s taking them so long, right?”

 

“Right.” Castiel said, and nodded. So instead of opening the door, he and Dean were supposed to just walk past it, go back downstairs, and, what… tell Ellen that Jo and her obviously-not-a-friend were almost done? Castiel didn’t know what Dean was planning to tell Ellen to convince the woman that nothing weird was going on upstairs, but he would just follow along as best as he could. Just like with Gabe, sometime it was just easier to follow someone else’s lead.

 

That plan doesn’t happen, though, because as Dean passes by the door, it swings open and almost hits Castiel in the face. It doesn’t because Castiel has developed some intense reflexes from his times in high school gym class when the other kids would purposely hurl dodgeballs at him because they thought he was unathletic and weird. The second assumption was correct. The first was not. Castiel was pretty good at hockey, good enough that he had played on his church’s high school team that went to the Maine playoffs and then lost to Albany’s team.

 

So Castiel avoids getting a door to his face and then focuses back in to see two someones in the doorway. One of whom is very familiar.

 

“Castiel?” His sister, Anna. She still looks the same, though obviously more of an adult than a teenager now: long red hair, even longer legs, big blue eyes that make her look like a deer, and pale skin stretched tight across her sharp cheekbones. Her hair is mussed and falling into her face, and… she’s not wearing pants. And Anna’s shirt is lopsided, as though it can’t decide whether it wants to stay on or not. For the sake of everyone involved, Castiel hopes that it decides to stay on.

 

“Oh, so _you’re_ the Cas that Dean wouldn’t shut up about!” The other woman leaned in front of Anna. She was just as well put together as Castiel’s sister, and pulled her bra strap up onto her shoulder as she extended her hand for Castiel to shake. Castiel stared at the hand for a few moments before he decided to shake it and hope that it was not the hand that had just been in his sister’s vagina. (Castiel actually did know how sex worked, thank you. Gabe was all too willing to explain it to him when they were in high school and actual Sex Ed was just as shitty as one could imagine). Castiel doesn’t have any words for this kind of situation. He doesn’t think anything could throw him now, because here he is, shaking the hand of a girl who was literally just having sex with his sister, while her adopted older brother (and Castiel’s current interest) is standing beside him. What the fuck.

 

“Jo…” Dean starts, but Castiel can tell that Dean doesn’t have anything else to say. Castiel knows because he’s been there, done the whole “just walked in on someone a little past post sex and there are no words for any emotion I am feeling currently” dance before.

 

“Yes, Dean?” Jo, who is the only one unphased by anything going on, puts her hands on her hips (she’s just wearing a bra and sweatpants, Castiel wants to cry and bleach his brains a little bit). “Are you going to properly introduce us, or were you just planning to lock Castiel up in your room for the week?”

 

Castiel wouldn’t mind not leaving Dean’s room for a week. _Not in a sexual sense Jesus Christ._ Just, not having to sort out the mind fuck that was… this. Dean rolled his eyes. “Jo, Anna, this is Cas. And, Cas, this is Jo, by deranged best friend and sister, and her girlfriend, Anna, who is apparently _your_ sister.”

 

Dean looked at Castiel with a completely done expression on his face, and Castiel got it. Dean’s brother was dating Castiel’s best friend, and Dean and Castiel’s sisters were dating each other. It was as though everyone else in their families was pairing up with each other, meaning that A) Castiel and Dean were the only two left, and B) everyone here knew that they were both single. Castiel would blame this all on Gabe except that there was no way that Gabe could have made this happen, with or without Sam and Jo’s help. Castiel had a horrible feeling that this situation was merely the result of coincidence. Which meant that Gabe couldn’t take credit for it, but would definitely be manipulating it to his advantage. Castiel decided that he hated coincidences.

 

“This is just really fucking weird.” Dean shook his head. “Please tell me you two got something done other than each other.”

 

“We finished wrapping the presents, Dean. Calm down.” Jo shook her head, copying Dean’s previous motions. She reached around Anna again and grabbed the door handle, telling Dean to tell Ellen that they would be down in another ten minutes. Then the door closed in front of Castiel and dean, and the two men were left in the hallway, alone once again. Dean grabbed Castiel’s shoulder and spun him around so that they were both facing each other. Dean pointed at the door, then at Castiel. “That was not how I was expecting you to find out about them, I swear. So can we both pretend that what we saw never actually happened?”

 

“Yes, Dean.” Castiel said. Dean thanked him, and then the two went downstairs. Night had fallen, and so Sam, Gabe, Ellen, and a man that Castiel assumed was Bobby, were sitting around the in the living room with a fire crackling away in the background. Dean grabbed two cushions and threw one to Castiel, who managed to catch it. “Grab a piece of floor and make yourself comfortable. We’ll be here until one tomorrow morning.”

 

“Why?” Castiel asked. Midnight would make more sense; staying up until it was officially Christmas seemed like something that the Winchester family would do.

 

“It’s a tradition.” Bobby said. Castiel turned and stared at him, because that was what Castiel did. Bobby didn’t seem perturbed by it, so Castiel guessed that one of the Winchester brothers had already told Bobby about Castiel’s staring habits. “Dean and Sam couldn’t sneak out until midnight, so Ellen and Jo and I would wait up for them till they got here at one. It just stayed a tradition when they officially moved in.”

 

“Yeah, Dean and Sam never could be normal kids, could you?” Jo said from the doorway. She and Anna came into the room and sat down on the couch next to Ellen. Anna was watching Castiel, and Castiel was watching Anna. He could feel both Gabe’s and Dean’s eyes on him, and he felt really uncomfortable. He grabbed at the belt of his trench coat and wondered why he ever thought that going to Dean’s house for Christmas would be a good idea. People only invited their dates to spend Christmas with family, and only after they had been dating the person for a significant amount of time. And Dean and Castiel weren’t together at all. Sure, they had done some things together that any normal person would consider a date (EX the laser tag adventure, driving out and fucking _star-gazing_ , the snowball fight with Sam and Gabe, and of course, the whole coffee house adventure), but they were only friends. Castiel was sure of that. So why the hell had Dean invited him? It didn’t make sense. Not that much about Dean ever made sense to Castiel, but Castiel had hoped that, just this once in his life, he could understand how Dean worked. Apparently not.

 

The seven of them spent the night talking, swapping and organising presents, and sipping their various drinks. Castiel, the eighth member of the group, spent the night watching Dean and half-listening to what the others were talking about. He was trying to figure out what Dean thought about him, wondering if maybe Gabe had missed something and Dean already liked Castiel, but was just good at hiding it. Maybe this was just some kind of test, to see if Castiel could handle meeting Dean’s family. Castiel didn’t know what was going on, and it was freaking him out because Castiel had no clue whether the guy he liked felt the same way about him and Dean’s feelings were really important right then. Castiel was completely wrapped up in his own thoughts, so wrapped up that he didn’t know that Dean was trying to give him a box wrapped in blue paper, a box the wrong size for a sketch book, which was what Castiel usually got from people. Castiel stared down at the box. “This is… for me?”

 

“No, Cas, it’s for the pope.” Dean said, and Castiel looked up at his face, and suddenly (as cliché as it sounded, it was what Castiel was feeling, so shush) it was as if they were in a different world from everyone else. It was just Castiel Milton and Dean Winchester, no one else. Dean was smiling, and it was his real smile, Castiel’s Dean’s smile. “Of course it’s for you... I don’t know if you’ve got one or not, but I thought… I thought you might like it.”

 

Castiel decided, before even opening the box, that he was going to love whatever the hell it was that Dean got him. And then Castiel actually opened the box and it got better, because he was staring down at a TARDIS and Dalek ornament, nestled in next to a sonic screw driver pen. Castiel looked up at Dean again, and if he hadn’t been so terrified of screwing up what he already had with Dean, then he probably would have kissed the man. Because Dean did something for Castiel that no one else (besides Gabe) had ever done: he didn’t get Castiel generic artist crap. Dean got him generic Whovian crap. Dean saw Castiel as more than a quiet guy who made art, Dean saw him as a person with interests, albeit nerdy, and Dean acted on Castiel’s interests. Castiel loved him for it, and grinned up at Dean. “Thank you. These are… to use your wording… awesome.”

 

“Glad to know I could be of service.” Dean looked relieved. Castiel hoped that his gift to Dean had the same effect… he didn’t want an angry Dean on his hands. Or worse, a disappointed Dean.

 

He got neither. The mix tape that Castiel (with some help from Gabe, who actually knew how technology worked and had a better idea of music that Dean would listen to) made was accepted with a lopsided grin that Castiel had drawn many times before. Dean held the tape in his hand, flipping it over as he thought of what to say to Castiel. Or at least that was what Castiel assumed was going through Dean’s mind at that point. He didn’t really know.

 

“Thanks, Cas.” Dean said, simple and direct. Castiel appreciated that. Castiel could get with simple and direct. Simple and direct was sensible and easy to interpret correctly. Castiel nodded, and then they went back to opening the other presents. Their private little world was interrupted by other people, but Castiel had expected that. The world couldn’t just be him and Dean. Castiel would like it to be that way sometimes, but he would (surprisingly, or maybe not) miss Gabe, and he knew that Dean would miss his friends and family. And Castiel, while he really did like Dean, would never go so far as to ruin Dean’s other relationships just so it was him and Dean and no one else. As messed up socially as he was, Castiel did know that that kind of relationship was really fucking unhealthy.

 

Once they were finished with opening their presents, Ellen and Dean disappeared to get… something. Castiel didn’t know what it was. As soon as Dean was out of the room, Jo and Gabe made eye contact, and Castiel panicked. They were planning something, Castiel knew it. So when Jo stood up and started to walk over towards Castiel, Castiel did the smart (albeit rude) thing and got up, his eyes wide with panic. He turned to Bobby, the only one in the room that he could really trust. “Um… rest room. Where is it?”

 

“Down the hall, first door on your right.” Bobby said, giving Castiel a questioning look about why he was aggressively avoiding Jo. Castiel ignored it. He just nodded and got the hell out of the room. Unfortunately, Jo followed him. Even more unfortunate, she was fast, and stronger than Castiel had originally given her credit for. Not that Castiel was about to shove Jo away when she was in her own house and surrounded by people who would easily kill someone who hurt her. So, because Castiel knew when he was losing, he let Jo block him from really escaping. He stared down at her. “Um… yes?”

 

“Look, _Cas_ ,” She emphasised his name for reasons that Castiel couldn’t fathom, “I know about the whole you-and-Dean plan. I’m in on it all… and from what I’ve seen of the two of you, I’d say that you’ve got a good shot at getting my brother.”

 

“What… what are you saying?” Obviously, she was saying that she thought that _Dean_ liked Castiel. It would explain the look she had shared with Gabe earlier, for sure. But Castiel didn’t want to jump to conclusions. Not yet. Dean hadn’t been acting any different around Castiel, so why the hell did Jo and Gabe think that Dean had suddenly fallen for Castiel? What was different? What changed, and how did Castiel not see it happen? Was Castiel really _that_ _clueless_? Okay, the answer to that last one was a very definite _YES_. But the rest… Castiel didn’t know, and so he wouldn’t think that Dean liked him until there was obvious evidence pointing in that direction. Until then, Castiel would remain in doubt.

 

Jo sighed and rolled her eyes. “Really, Cas?” _Yes really, Jo._ “I thought it was obvious… Gabe thought it was obvious… but apparently you really are as clueless as they say.” _Yes he is._ “Dean… the Dean in the kitchen helping Ellen bake some pie—don’t ask why we eat pie Christmas morning, it’s just another family thing. Shit… I forgot where I was going with this.”

 

“You were talking about Dean.” Castiel said, and he almost missed what Jo said next because holy crap sticks he just said a full coherent sentence in front of someone he didn’t know very well. That never happened. What the fuck?

 

“Yeah! _Dean_.” Jo snapped her fingers. She was smiling like Gabe and it was scaring Castiel. He wondered if Sam had ever noticed the similarities between the two. That wasn’t important at the moment. What Jo was saying was the important stuff. “Right, so I’m pretty sure that Dean likes you. Really likes you. Why? Well, first of all, when he met your sister, he wouldn’t shut up about you, so I practically have your biography in the voice of Dean Winchester. Also, he invited you here, and Dean’s never had a stable enough relationship—platonic or otherwise—to bring his partner person home. You’re the first that any of us have seen since Dean left Kansas to go live with Sam. He likes you, Cas. A lot more than he’ll admit to.”

 

Jo paused, and glanced around the corner. She turned back to Castiel and put her hands on his shoulders, looking up at him with utmost seriousness in her eyes. “Cas. Dean’s not gonna come out and tell you that he’s totally in love with you. _You_ have to do it. You’ve gotta make the first move, and I _know_ that you’ll probably be freaking out the whole time, but _come_ _on_ , man. You like Dean, Dean likes you… Sam and Gabe and I can only do so much to shove the two of you together. This one’s gonna be on you, Castiel.”

 

“That was… quite a pep talk.” Castiel said, He didn’t know how else to respond.  Jo was right. He was freaking out (already) and he hadn’t even considered talking to Dean about it. The idea had never crossed Castiel’s mind because Castiel had never let it cross his mind. He never actually expected that anyone other than Gabe would want to stick around with him. He never expected that he would ever develop feelings for someone, because he had only ever looked at people with aesthetic appreciation, and he had never expected that someone would look at him and actually like what they saw. Castiel knew he wasn’t the least attractive person on the planet, but he wasn’t easy to get to know, let alone grow attached to, but somehow Dean had done it.

 

“Thank you.” Jo said, connecting with her inner Gabriel Speight once again. She reached up and patted Castiel on the top of his head, her fingers barely curling over Castiel’s forehead. “Now go get your man.”

 

She disappeared back into the living room with the others, and left Castiel alone with his thoughts. Which was a really bad idea, seeing as Castiel’s mind had a tendency to think too much. While Castiel was excited that Jo and Gabe (and probably Sam) were sure that Dean liked him, Castiel’s inner panic was still making him second-guess their findings. How did they know? How did they know that what Dean felt about Castiel wasn’t just something intense and platonic?

 

“Cas? What are you doing here?” Dean said, and Castiel jumped. He would never admit that to anyone else, but Dean’s sudden appearance during the middle of his mental implosion scared the living shit out of Castiel. Dean moved closer, having noticed that Castiel was panicking a little from over exposure to people. “Cas… are they too much for you? Is that it?”

 

“Kind of… I guess.” _No, it was actually more along the lines of everyone except you knows about our mutual crushes on each other and most of them are trying to set us up together._ That was too much for Castiel to say out loud without making an idiot of himself. That, and he didn’t want to admit that he had a crush on Dean like that. Castiel was mostly oblivious as to how normal humans dealt with affection, but he knew that the right way to confess was to plan it out and then wait for a good moment. This was not thought out. This was not the right moment. Castiel couldn’t do it now.

 

“You can go upstairs if you want, I’ll just tell everyone that you’re tired. Or something.” Dean said, and shrugged. His eyes kept flicking away from Castiel, and Castiel wondered if his staring had finally gotten to the point that it was creepy. Dean swallowed, shifted his weight from one foot to the other, and then it hit Castiel: Dean wasn’t creeped out by Castiel constantly staring at him, Dean was just _nervous_. Around _Castiel_. Dean hadn’t acted awkward and shy around anyone other than Castiel… Castiel remembered something that Gabe had told him months ago when Castiel had been trying to figure out what was happening with the whole Dean thing. “When you like someone, your social competence goes down by seventy-two percent. Or something like that.” While Dean’s ability to function as a human being might not have decreased by a full seventy-two percent (and Castiel was pretty sure that Gabe had made that number up out of nowhere), it had definitely gone down.

 

Which mean that Jo, Gabe, and Sam were right. Dean did like Castiel. _Holy mother of France._

 

 

“Cas?” Dean said. Castiel mentally smacked himself for going off into Castiel world for too long. Castiel shook his head. “S-sorry… what did you say?”

 

“I asked if you wanted to go upstairs so that you could be alone for a while and do your artsy stuff.” Dean said. He was still shifting his feet, and somehow managed to stumble over nothing. Dean laughed and rubbed the back of his neck, but Castiel didn’t understand what was funny about someone falling over nothing. Castiel had done it before, and he had never found it amusing. Perhaps Dean just had a different sense of humour from Castiel.

 

Dean had also asked Castiel a question. Castiel needed to give him an answer. He shook his head. “No, I’m fine.”

 

“You sure?” Dean asked. Castiel was sure. In fact, Castiel actually had an idea. An idea that involved pie, and a possibility of the fiery demise of everyone currently inside this house. It all depended on Dean and Castiel’s combined cooking skills and their abilities to stay focused. Castiel looked past Dean, into the kitchen. “I’ve never made pie.”

 

“O-okay…?” The statement caught Dean by surprise. Castiel could see it in his vibrant green eyes. That wasn’t Castiel’s intention, but he could go with it. He looked up at Dean, blinking purposely. “Teach me.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Self promotion time! My tumblr is the--renegade--angels.tumblr.com and I am always willing to take your questions or comments and I will do any fic requests for this AU or just in general.
> 
> Also, please go and read my Fallen to the Top series, because it's not getting a lot of love and I feel bad about that. 
> 
> Okay, promo over. Have a nice day!
> 
> -Jeff


	10. Official PSA

Hello, readers of this fanfiction. My name is Jeff and I'm the author. I have an announcement to make, and I'm pretty sure that none of youse guys are going to like it.

The announcement is this: I'm going on hiatus. I don't know how long it will be, but it might just be forever. I'm not going to label this work as orphaned just yet, because I still have the Google Doc for it on my Drive, but don't expect a lot of updates from me.

You might be wondering "Why is Jeff announcing his official hiatus right now? He hasn't updated in a while." You are correct, I have not updated in a while. I've been dealing with a really bad bout of depression, and while that's (hopefully) decreasing, I just don't feel capable of continuing this story, or any of the others I have here on AO3. Except for One Thousand Words and the AvengerSpawn series, both of which I actually finished writing before I posted them online. Those two will get updated eventually. Everything else, probably not.

I haven't given up on writing, though. I'm just taking a break from fanfiction for a while. I'm actually participating in NaNoWriMo this month, and hopefully I will be publishing some of my original fiction within the next year.

It's been a great two years on this site. I know I'm not popular, but for the few readers I do get: thank you. I appreciate you very much.

Have a nice life,

-Jeffrey S Colins


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